


Child Support

by Sunnybone



Series: Child Support [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Smoking, because Miklan, because Sylvain, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 22:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21363946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnybone/pseuds/Sunnybone
Summary: Felix's cat gets knocked up by his neighbor Sylvain's cat. Sylvain graciously offers to pay child support for the kittens.Also they are attracted to each other and dumb as hell about it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Child Support [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565830
Comments: 143
Kudos: 1481
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with emojis! Some day I will learn to properly code lmao

Felix is tacking up a missing poster for the cat when a saccharine voice coos behind him.

“Oh no, that's so sad, a lost kitty!” The sound crawls up Felix's spine, and he drives the pushpin so deep into the apartment complex bulletin board that he swears he feels it punch through the cork _and_ the backing. The voice that follows is even worse, prickles at his scalp and the back of his neck in a completely different way.

“Yeah, sure—oh, hey!” It's Felix's neighbor, the stupidly hot one who seems to go through girls like tissues and does his laundry shirtless, to Felix's endlessly horny frustration. “I've got her!” The voice, warm, is right over his shoulder, and Felix turns to meet brown eyes and a slightly sheepish smile.

“What?”

“I've got your cat.” Felix blinks up at him for a moment, then turns and pulls the poster down so he can have two seconds to collect himself.

“Why do you have my cat?” he asks when he turns back, and he can see the girl is getting a little antsy. Poor thing, she must not know the guy is going to drop her like a hot rock.

“Ok, so,” he starts, and the girl tugs his arm. “Yeah, bye Princess,” he says absently, barely looking at her, and Felix wonders for a second if he even remembers her name as the girl looks affronted and drops his arm like she's throwing it, storming off while she mutters about him being an asshole. He seems completely unfazed, just runs a hand through his stupid, messy-in-a-sexy-way red hair and continues on. “So like let me preface this with a fervent apology, because I'm pretty sure my cat knocked your cat up? I have an appointment to get him fixed next week, it's kind of a perfect storm situation.”

“Wh—! I can't have kittens!” The complex's lease allows a maximum of two pets per apartment, and even then Felix can't afford to take care of a litter of kittens. Vet bills are hardly cheap.

Felix knows, somewhere inside, that he is irrationally angry. He was the one who decided to take in the apartment complex's resident stray, because it was getting colder out and he worried, and he was the one who had let her slip past on accident four days ago when he was running late to work. He hadn't gotten her to the vet yet, because he'd been slammed at work with new clients, which meant she wasn't spayed or even microchipped or _vaccinated_ yet.

Really, he's lucky that it's literally the guy next door who has the cat he had grown stupidly attached to in the span of one week.

However.

The Handsome Cat Neglecter does not quail beneath the furious glare Felix gives him, only grips the side of his neck and looks apologetic.

“I know, I'm _really_ sorry. It was definitely my fault, I brought her in because it was raining and I was keeping them separate but my girlfriend let Garf out—my ex, anyways, but that's not the point.” He sighs, rubs his hand along his neck. “Uh. I'll pay child support? I'm Sylvain, by the way,” and he extends a hand that Felix stares at as he is still trying to parse 'child support'. Sylvain withdraws the hand, but he doesn't look too offended. “You can come get her now, if you've got time?”

“Child support?” Felix finally blurts, and the bastard has the gall to chuckle; it curls warmly in the pit of Felix's stomach.

“Well, I mean, you'll have to take her to the vet and stuff, right? And kittens are expensive.” He starts walking towards the stairs that lead up to their second floor apartments, and Felix follows. “You _are_ gonna take her to the vet?” Sylvain throws a concerned look over his shoulder at Felix, and Felix scowls.

“_Obviously_, but especially if you're footing the bill.” Sylvain _grins_ at him, and Felix's hand tightens on the rail of the stairway with strangling force.

“Sure, I promise. Never let it be said I'm a deadbeat dad. Uh, what's her name, by the way?”

This presents a bit of a problem, because Felix hadn't thought he'd really be sharing that with anyone besides a vet, who probably saw weirder names all the time; Ashe, who would never judge—or at least had the grace not to tease; and Caspar, who was too cheerfully oblivious to even_ think_ of teasing. He finds himself going warm in the face.

“Uh. M...Mademoiselle Maupin.” Sylvain, already a few steps ahead of him down the open hallway, stops and turns to look at him in surprise.

“What, like, the opera singer?” Felix frowns.

“The ope—no, like the famous French duelist!”

“Who was also an opera singer,” Sylvain says with a pleased little smile, and _goddess_ Felix just wants to get his cat back into his apartment so this beautiful, surprisingly _intelligent_ bastard will stop making his pulse do funny things—it's probably not healthy. “It's a good name, I was just calling her Duchess; she seems very regal.” Felix is, despite himself, a little charmed by that. “What do I call you, by the way?” he asks with a little wink as he unlocks his front door. Felix does _not_ squirm at the wink.

“Felix,” he says, and Sylvain hums thoughtfully as he holds the door for Felix to enter the apartment, guarding the door against any feline escapes.

Their apartments have the same layout, of course, but as Sylvain flips on lights Felix is surprised to find the interior so far from what he expected. Sylvain is handsome and has the muscled build to rival the regular clientele of the exclusive country club's gym where Felix works, and every time Felix sees him with a woman it's a different girl—and he sees him with women _often._ He had expected some kind of bro cave, or a sex den, not...

The furniture is minimalist in warm colors, reds and browns, and what parts of the walls aren't lined with bookshelves are covered in photographs; landscapes, mostly, though there are a few group shots by a framed poster for a musical at a famous local playhouse. The place is also spotless, and Sylvain even has _coasters_ on his low coffee table. It's cozy, and, frankly, makes Felix a little self-conscious about the last time he cleaned his own apartment.

“She's just in here—ah, you can borrow my cat carrier if you bring it by before next Friday,” Sylvain says, ducking into the small side room that Felix uses in his own apartment as a spare room for whenever Caspar crashes at his place after work. Sylvain has it set up as an office with a drafting table and a _chess set_. There's a bookshelf with _chess trophies_. This is so incredibly nerdy that Felix feels like he should be making out with Sylvain up against a locker, right before he shoves the taller man inside of it.

“I'll have it back tomorrow, if you're free,” he says instead, focusing on the soft and slightly irritated meows of Mlle. Maupin as Sylvain emerges with her in his arms. He snags the Missing poster from Felix’s hand and passes the cat to him, and Felix does _not_ notice how warm and _big_ his hands are. Fuck.

He brushes quick hands over Mlle. Maupin's dark fur instead, checking her over and finding nothing amiss. While he does that, Sylvain opens a closet and fishes out a cat carrier, and he brings it and sets it on the counter that separates the kitchen from the rest of the living area. It's a bit of a joint effort, getting a reluctant Mlle. Maupin into the carrier, and there is betrayal in her yellow eyes when the carrier is secured. Sylvain leans against the counter when they finish.

"Can I get you anything? Cup of tea? A beer?" Sylvain wiggles an eyebrow, and Felix rolls his eyes.

"It's two in the afternoon." _It's two in the afternoon._ "Fuck, I'm gonna be late for work—thanks for the carrier, I'll, ah _shit_—"

"Go, go," Sylvain says, grinning, "I'll text you. Got your number on the flier, right?"

"Yes, fine, thanks," and Felix rushes to not be late.

+

Sylvain is drafting set plans for the new musical Manuela wants to run when his phone buzzes with a text, and at first he ignores it because it's probably Gemma, his latest ex. He finishes the line he had been penciling along a ruler and flips his phone over, figuring he ought to block her number anyways—his block list is _long_ and filled with exes.

But instead of Gemma the notification is for **[❤️ Baby Mama ❤️]** and he almost fumbles the phone unlocking it. Felix had texted him back a terse 'thanks' when he had sent his number and told him to keep the cat carrier, and then nothing for days. Sylvain _was_ ashamed about the whole cat situation, but he felt absolutely blessed to have an excuse to talk to his ridiculously gorgeous neighbor for more than two seconds in the laundry room or the hallway.

**[❤️ Baby Mama ❤️]**: Your cat definitely got Mlle. Maupin pregnant

**[Me]**: Oh no, I'm sorryyyy

**[Me]**: 😔😔😔🙇🙇🙇

**[Me]:** I'm home until five if you want to drop off the bill

**[❤️ Baby Mama ❤️]:** I'll be home in 10

**[Me]:** Cool!

Ugh, 'cool'? Shit. Well, he had already hit send, so.

Sylvain sets aside his phone and stretches, and then goes and gives himself a once over in front of his mirror, because, well, what will it hurt if he makes sure he is _incredibly_ sexy when Felix drops by? The man is _so_ hot it's criminal, always in tight pants and motorcycle boots, leather motorcycle jacket over tight turtleneck sweaters. And the hair—don't get Sylvain started on Felix's ponytail, long and raven-black and silky, curling a little at the ends when it's humid out.

Sylvain has noticed the humidity-curl. Sylvain cannot _help_ but notice.

_It's _such_ a shame_, Sylvain thinks as he opens the door roughly ten minutes later to Felix's knock, _that Felix isn't single_.

Felix is standing there looking incredible as always, a navy turtleneck today and no jacket, and instead of his usual clunky boots it's ankle-boots with pointed toes that make his legs look even longer. Sylvain tries very hard not to think about how much he would like those legs wrapped around him, considering right next to Felix is The Boyfriend.

“Hey, Felix. Sylvain,” he offers to The Boyfriend, extending a hand, and he does not let himself be a macho dickhead and squeeze when they shake hands.

“I'm Ashe; it's nice to meet you.” He's cute, which is annoying—Sylvain would feel better if he knew he was definitely hotter. And, well, he _is_ 'hotter', but if 'cute' is Felix's type, Sylvain does not hold a candle to soft silver hair and big green eyes and _freckles_.

“Come on in,” he says, ushering them inside, “no sense standing in the hall.” He starts heating up water as soon as they're inside, before he's even offered them tea, just to have something to do with his hands. “Make yourselves comfortable. Tea?”

“Please,” Ashe says, and glances at Felix, who looks slightly uncomfortable even as he nods. “Ah, who is this?” Ashe asks, and Sylvain looks over to see his ginger cat hopping onto the counter for attention.

“That,” Sylvain answers, getting out cups and tea bags, “is Garfield, and he's not supposed to be on the counter. You can hold him, he's an attention whore.”

“You named your cat _Garfield_?” Felix sounds mildly disgusted even as Ashe scoops the cat up and whispers at it.

“Mr. President, if you're nasty,” Sylvain quips with a wink, pouring the hot water, and Felix turns pretty pink even as he scoffs. Ashe doesn't seem to even notice, too busy letting Garf sniff at his ear.

“You didn't really name your cat after President Garfield.”

“I _absolutely_ named him after the twentieth president.” He isn't even lying, but he doesn't mind if Felix doesn't believe him. Still, he doesn't have much room to talk. “Not as illustrious as a famous French duelist—“

“Oh my god, shut up.” Sylvain passes out the tea with perfect timing, and a look passes between Felix and Ashe before Ashe sighs and moves toward the living room with the cat in one arm and the tea in the other hand. He uses a coaster, and Sylvain really wishes the guy was at least a _little_ unlikable. He looks back at Felix, who is holding his tea and staring into it as though it contains all the universe's secrets.

“So, the vet bill?” Sylvain prompts, and Felix frowns.

“Maupin is mine, so anything not kitten related, I'll pay. Uh.” His shoulders draw in a fraction. “About the kittens. The vet said it's early enough that they can... terminate. The whole... Thing.” Sylvain glances over at Ashe, who is very obviously not looking at them, and back to Felix, who is glaring into his cup.

“Oh? I didn't know they did that kind of thing. I guess that's up to you, though, since she's your cat. Either way, I'm still down to pay for kitten costs.” Felix looks up at him, then, something like surprised relief in his eyes. “Hey, I said I would, right? I don't break promises.” Sylvain shrugs, and Felix's whole posture relaxes; he must have been conflicted about the kittens. When Sylvain shoots another glance at Ashe, he's got an odd little smile on his face.

“Well then. I want to split costs; it feels kind of shitty to make you pay for everything.” It's the first time anyone has ever _declined_ taking full advantage of him, after he's offered himself up on a platter practically, and Sylvain leans against his kitchen counter and treats Felix to a grin that has the man turning pink again.

“Sure, Felix; whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off of this meme lmao
> 
> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/lady_gundam/49036559837/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> [Mademoiselle Maupin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julie_d%27Aubigny) is a real and very interesting woman
> 
> This will update Fridays!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	2. Chapter 2

They settle into something almost easy, so quickly it surprises Felix; he's not a particularly outgoing person, considers himself rather private, but Sylvain puts in enough work for both of them, texting often and inviting Felix over sometimes. Felix, for his part, cleans his apartment just in case. Ashe smirks a little knowingly the next time he visits, but doesn't say anything about how obvious Felix's crush is.

**[Sylvain]**: Here's another article on cat pregnancy!

This is the fifth article Sylvain has sent, and they all say the same thing.

**[Sylvain]**: Also, didn't know this, but a female dog is a bitch while a female cat is a queen?

**[Sylvain]:**

**[Sylvain]**: Also they're supposed to eat a lot, let me know if you need me to pick up cat food

Felix smiles at his phone despite himself, and Ferdinand tuts beside him. Felix looks over at him as he shoves his phone into his locker and fishes for his gloves, and Ferdinand just looks back with a smug sort of smile as he pulls on his riding boots.

“What?” Ferdinand only raises his eyebrows, and Felix's lower in response, so he shakes his head.

“It's only that I haven't seen you _smiling_ like that since...college.” Felix scowls, because he knows that pause was meant to be filled by _Annette_, which means what Ferdinand is _actually_ saying is 'oh I see you have a crush there, old fellow'.

“Aegir,” he starts, low and warning, and Ferdinand only blinks with faux innocence. Felix knows he's just going to keep dropping hints and giving him smug looks until he gets _something_, so he grabs the bag with his saber and slams the locker shut before he turns back to Ferdinand. "I want to fuck my extremely straight neighbor,” he growls. “Now shut up about it.”

He stalks off to his first client of the day while Ferdinand sputters behind him.

+

“Thea, he's gorgeous,” he says for probably the millionth time, popping a fry into his mouth, and she hums around the straw of her milkshake.

“So you've said, Sylvie.” He hates that nickname, which is why she's using it.

“He named his cat after an _opera singer_.”

“You mentioned that.”

“He has an ass like, ugh,” and Sylvain makes a gesture with his hands, palms up and fingers curling in, and Dorothea frowns at him.

“Sylvain, I'm eating.” She pops a chicken nugget into her mouth to illustrate the point.

“Maybe if I assassinate his boyfriend?”

“Or, maybe, you could move on.” She says it gently, as gently as Dorothea ever says anything when she's talking to _him_, and he sighs long and deep.

“Yeah, he's too good for me, anyways.” He shoves a few more fries in his mouth and pretends he doesn't see Dorothea's brows draw in. “Did Mercie's fabric order come in? I need to check the weight on the canopy fabric before I build the frame, if we're gonna get the drape right.”

Dorothea sighs, but she lets him change the subject.

+

Felix is picking up cat treats and some apples when his phone buzzes with a message from Sylvain.

**[Sylvain]:** The President is secured

There's a picture attached of Garfield looking miserable, one of his paws shaved like a reverse boot and a plastic cone around his neck.

**[Me]:** Too late to avoid a Presidential Scandal unfortunately

**[Sylvain]:** The indignity of The Cone is his penance

**[Sylvain]:** Want to come over and bask in his shame?

**[Sylvain]:** I'm cooking if you want to stay for dinner

Felix thinks about that for a minute. He likes Sylvain. He's charming as hell, surprisingly, and Felix would jump him in a heartbeat if he wasn't one hundred percent convinced Sylvain is straight. The parade of girls made that pretty obvious, even if things have been quieter lately. Felix chalks that up to Sylvain being busier with work, and is simply grateful not to see a new girl clinging on Sylvain in the parking lot or hear tittering laughter outside his door.

Felix just isn't sure if he should keep spending time with him, getting closer to him. He does not want to repeat Annette. He loves Annette, and he's happy for her and Mercedes, but it doesn't make the ridiculous crush he'd had on her in college any less embarrassing. He's not trying to fall head over heels for someone who's not attracted to his gender again. Moving on from that sucked ass.

He stares at his phone for a moment, biting his lip.

**[Me]:** Sure. Need anything from the store?

Fuck it.

+

“So they said she's probably had at least one litter before, and she's older than we thought. They guessed around eight.” Felix is sitting on Sylvain's couch, propped in one corner with his legs along the cushions and Garfield in his lap, nursing a beer.

“Ah, so our Mademoiselle is a cougar! Practically a cradle robber,” Sylvain says, and Felix rolls his eyes even as he scratches under Garfield's chin. “I didn't know you had a thing for older women, Garf.”

“You're ridiculous,” Felix says, and Sylvain tries not to stare at his mouth when he tips back the beer bottle, or watch his throat when he swallows.

God, _why_ isn't he single? Well, obviously, because he's incredible, but.

“Of course I am. So, I know what all the articles said, but what do _you_ need?” Felix looks at him for a second, confusion and something else flitting across his face. “For your Mademoiselle?” Felix looks away, a little pink, and Sylvain wonders if he's a lightweight.

“Right now, just cat food, but in a few weeks she'll need an ultrasound, that sort of stuff. The real expense comes after they're born. Vaccinations and stuff.” His phone buzzes on the table, and Sylvain is able to see just enough of the screen to notice the name is followed by several sweat emojis. Probably Ashe then, and Sylvain schools his face to his blandest smile as Felix reads his message and actually snickers, something fond and amused crossing his face as he shakes his head.

Why _can't_ Sylvain assassinate his boyfriend?

Felix sighs then and shifts on the couch, pulling himself upright despite Garfield's protests. “It's late, I should probably go.” Sylvain pushes out of his own chair so he can walk Felix out, and it's a good thing because as Felix stands and moves towards the door, Garfield darts in between his legs.

Felix tries not to step on him, which overbalances him and sends him sprawling towards the coffee table; Sylvain catches and pivots him instead with a hand around his elbow, pulling him into his chest. They stay like that for a second, Sylvain _achingly_ aware of Felix's palms on his chest, mouth close to his collarbone, and his own hands steadying Felix by the elbows. Fuck, he can smell Felix's shampoo when he breathes in, something crisp like eucalyptus and spearmint—Felix draws back and pulls his hands into himself and Sylvain releases his elbows, lets his own hands fall to his sides.

_I am not a homewrecker_, he reminds himself when Felix glances up and clears his throat and his beautiful cheeks are red, and Sylvain wants to pull him back and kiss him. _I am _not_ a homewrecker._

“You ok?” he asks instead, stepping back to look down at Felix's feet. “No twisted ankle or anything?” When he glances back up, Felix is dragging a slightly shaky hand over his face.

“No, I'm fine, thanks.” He turns back towards the door and grabs his boots, jamming them on his feet without lacing them. He's only walking four feet, anyways, but it's cute.

“I'll pick up some cat food—she's supposed to eat the kitten stuff, right?” Felix nods, and Sylvain follows his clumping footsteps to the door. “Right, I'll pick some up next time I get groceries. Some real fancy stuff,” he teases. “Top Shelf stuff. Stuff fit for a famous dueling opera singer.”

“You are _ridiculous_,” Felix says again as he opens the door, but he smirks at Sylvain the way he had smirked at his phone earlier, and Sylvain's returning smile is genuine and uncontainable.

“Of _course_ I am. See you later!”

“Sure.”

+

It’s the high pitched girlish shriek followed by low, male laughter that puts nails through him.

Felix had thought Sylvain was too busy lately for girls, but from the sound outside his door, Sylvain has brought another one home. He doesn’t have any place being jealous—which he _isn’t—_because it’s not like he has any kind of claim on Sylvain. They are just neighbors and friends and co-paying for kittens, it’s not like they’re dating. And Sylvain is straight.

He tells himself he is not being nosy or irrational or jealous as he knocks on Sylvain’s door, shoulders pulled in because of the wet chill from a pouring storm. He is just dropping by to pick up the cat food Sylvain bought, because he will be low soon. Soon-ish. …Eventually.

Felix doesn’t know why he is even surprised when the girl opens the door instead of Sylvain. She’s a little bit shorter than him, with soft purple hair that’s soaked and plastered to her face and dripping down her neck. They must have just come in and got caught in the rain. She looks him over with big grey eyes, and seems surprised by something, before she gets out a timid, questioning, “Hello?”

Felix is glaring. He can’t help it. He looks her over and feels his blood boil: she feels childish, vulnerable, with long socks over her knee and puffed shorts and a too-large sweater that he recognizes with a pang as Sylvain’s. That’s all bad enough, but worst of all, he recognizes _her_—he’s seen her with Sylvain before, and not recently.

Which means she is probably more than just a fling.

“Is Sylvain in?” He grinds out, knowing that he is, and she shrinks a bit.

“S-Sylvain?” She calls, never taking her eyes off of Felix, and Sylvain emerges from his bathroom shirtless with a towel over his head, another in his hand.

“What’s up, Bear?” He stops drying his hair one-handed to look, and a grin splits his face when he spots Felix—it takes so much sting out of Felix it’s _ridiculous_. Sylvain drops the towel in his hand over the girl’s hair as he comes up to the door. “Well, you are not the food I ordered, but you are a snack as always, Felix.”

“Shut up,” he says, crossing his arms, but _fuck_ he knows his face is pink from how hot it feels. “Sorry to interrupt,” he glances at ‘Bear’, who is retreating into the apartment, “but I wanted to grab that cat food while you were home.”

“Not a problem, we just got back; you’re not interrupting anything. We ordered pizza, actually, if you want to stay?”

“Your date isn’t going to mind me barging in?” He asks, eyebrow quirked, and Sylvain chokes.

“God, just get in here,” he says, laughing, and Felix doesn’t protest much when Sylvain pulls him by the elbow into the apartment and shuts the door; he's preoccupied thinking about the last time Sylvain grabbed his elbow, and the warm spice and citrus smell of his throat. “Come hang out.” Felix sighs, but he follows Sylvain into the living room and decides he will stay for as long as he can stomach it, because Sylvain asked him to.

“Hey, Bear,” Sylvain says, grinning at the girl as she huddles on the couch, drying her hair, “Felix thinks you’re my date.” She looks up with a shocked noise and drops the towel as her fingers go slack.

“Whaaat?! D-don’t even joke, Sylvain! That’s not funny at all.”

“I know, you have standards, right?” He’s still grinning, but she frowns small at that and sighs.

“That’s not what I meant, but whatever.” Her eyes slide over to Felix, who is processing this—somehow, he had never entertained the idea that Sylvain could have _friends_ who were women. “U-um, I’m Bernadetta. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Felix. I live next-door.” He jerks his head towards his apartment as Sylvain goes to get himself a shirt—fortunately, unfortunately—and her eyes go a little wide.

“Oh! _You’re_ Sylvain’s neighbor?” There’s something in her tone, and Felix bristles a little at it, but then Sylvain is back and wearing a shirt again and Felix doesn’t get the chance to ask her what she means.

“Yeah, the neighbor with the cat,” Sylvain says, giving Bernadetta a look.

“Um, r-right,” she says, and turns to Felix. “I read up on Mademoiselle Maupin, and she sounds fascinating. Of course Sylvain focused on the opera aspect,” she glances at him fondly, “but I thought her romantic escapades and duels were thrilling!”

“Yes! Three men in one night! That's a feat!” Felix says, eager, and Sylvain snorts.

“I'll say,” he does, in fact, say, and Felix and Bernadetta yell his name almost in unison. He is saved from their scolding by a knock on the door, and then they settle in to chatting over pizza and beers.

Bernadetta is soft spoken and intelligent, if a little shy, but her wit is ruthless when turned on Sylvain. Felix finds himself liking her as she asks him pointed questions about his fencing classes and discusses brands of biking attire. She's completely different from what he's seen of Sylvain's usual girls, and he starts to relax into the idea that he really isn't interrupting a tryst.

“We’ve been friends since boarding school. Everyone thought we were dating,” Sylvain teases, and Bernadetta scowls into her pizza. “Really we were just watching anime and playing Animal Crossing.”

“Is that what you called it?” Felix mutters, and Sylvain chokes on his laughter, Bernadetta thumping him on the back.

“I was really, really shy, and Sylvain was…Sylvain.”

“I used to beta her fanfic,” Sylvain offers, and she makes a noise like air being pressed out of a tire. Felix snorts, and Sylvain lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing; I have a friend who used to write fanfic about some book series with horses—”

“Me too!” Sylvain laughs, warm and pleased, and Felix wants to make him laugh forever. “Horse girls, an inescapable constant!” He raises his beer in a toast, and Felix joins him.

“Horse girls, a fact of life.”

“I was always more into Warrior Cats,” Bernadetta says, almost in protest, and both men dissolve in laughter.

“Oh, show him your illustrations!” Sylvain says when he recovers, and Bernadetta goes pink, sputtering, but Sylvain just sweeps her empty plate out of her hands. “Come on, they're great. Bear illustrates children's books,” he says aside to Felix as he continues cleaning up. “I have some framed in my office, go show him!”

Felix pushes up out of his chair even as Bernadetta protests, and she gives in and follows him to the office; Felix wants to see the illustrations, because he's curious about them now, but he is even more interested to get more than a glimpse through the door of Sylvain's office.

It's furnished with the same kind of warm minimalism as the living room, just the drafting table and some shelves and a couch that Felix suspects pulls out into a bed to make the office a spare room. Bernadetta points to a series of frames on the wall over the couch, and Felix studies them; he's not particularly artistic, but he can tell she's talented. Her style is soft and whimsical, perfect for fairy tales, and the illustrations depict things like various animals upright in human clothing, a princess dancing at a ball, a crew of pirates singing over ale—

Felix halts at a picture of a knight on a horse, lance held upright with a ribbon streaming from it like a banner. There's warm light and a crown of white flowers on his tousled red hair, and there are other mounted figures behind him, vague and undetailed, with pennants that flow in a flower-petal filled breeze. It's clearly Sylvain as a knight triumphant, leading a victory parade, and it's rendered with absolute love. Down in a corner she has signed it, but he doesn't let himself read the message, flicking his eyes towards her instead.

“These are really good,” and it slips out of him softer than he'd intended. Bernadetta flushes with pleasure as Felix glances around the office and his eyes rest on the shelf of trophies. She follows his gaze and grins.

“You noticed the chess trophies.” Felix hums.

“I wouldn't have pegged him for the type.”

“You mean he doesn't look like a huge nerd?” she snickers, and Felix smirks. “Well, he is, and he was really good! He quit in his last year of school, though, when he broke up with his boyfriend. He said he was too busy prepping for law school, but really I think it was because Claude was on the team.” She's gazing at the trophies with a thoughtful look on her face, thank god, because Felix feels like he's just been hit over the head. “I always thought it was sad he quit, he was talented.”

“Clearly,” Felix manages, his ears still ringing with _boyfriend_.

“Hey,” Sylvain says from the doorway, Garfield cradled in his arms, “we were going to watch a movie, if you wanted to stay? Or I can grab the cat food, if you're busy.”

“I'm not busy,” he says, because he's not, and because Sylvain is handsome and charming and has apparently _had a boyfriend_ in the past. “What're we watching?”

God, Felix is _so fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bernadetta: On Seiros we gonna get you this boyfriend, Sylvain
> 
> I know Mademoiselle Maupin was notably absent this chapter, but she will return in Chapter 3!
> 
> As always thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Updates on Fridays!
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added tags to reflect this, but there is passing mention in this chapter of child abuse re: Sylvain and Miklan!

It’s late when Sylvain gets home, and he’s tired from hauling and building set pieces, but from the parking lot he can see a figure leaning on the rail in front of his and Felix’s apartments, backlit by the lights along the hall. There’s a faint glow of light near the face for a moment, and Sylvain realizes with a pang that_ Felix is smoking_. He’s never seen him do that before, especially not in front of their doors.

He climbs the stairs with a little dread, and it seems founded when he gets close enough to see Felix; he looks miserable. Sylvain debates for a second, before he moves to lean against the rail next to Felix.

“This isn’t the designated smoking area, y'know.”

“Fuck off, Sylvain,” he sighs, but its weary and venomless.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Sylvain tries, and Felix finally looks at him, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t smoke,” but he offers the pack. It’s ancient and crumpled, and there are two cigarettes left inside. Sylvain pulls one forth and puts it between his lips, leaning towards Felix.

“From the looks of this, neither do you,” he mumbles around the filter. “Light me?” Felix rolls his eyes but he holds the lighter up, and Sylvain wraps a hand around Felix’s to steady it as he leans into it until the end is lit.

“It’s been a while,” Felix says, low and a little throaty, “I only do it when I’m really stressed.” Sylvain frowns at that, releasing Felix’s hand and inhaling. He coughs and groans before laughing.

“_Menthols_?”

“Fuck you, you’re_ bumming a smoke,_ I don’t wanna hear it.”

“God, there are less awful ways to hurt yourself, ba—buddy.” _Fuck _he almost slipped _so_ bad. “Have you considered vaping?” He hurries to add, to cover his near mistake, and Felix looks at him with an affronted sort of disgust.

“Do I _look_? Like I _vape_?”

“You don’t look like you smoke _menthols_.”

“_Sylvain_—”

“Wanna talk about it?” Felix deflates and turns away again, taking a drag on his terrible cigarette.

“I'm just stressed about work and some things; it's not that interesting.” He rubs his finger and thumb along the bridge of his nose, cigarette between his middle and ring fingers.

“Felix, I am standing here smoking a _menthol_ of my own free will, offering to listen to you vent.” He says it softly, and Felix glances up with narrowed eyes, before sighing and flicking ash off the end of his cigarette.

“Fine. I had to drop a client the other day. It fucking sucks because she paid really well, but I'm getting paid to _fence_, not to _fuck_, so—“

“Wait, _what_?” Sylvain can't help interrupting, because the implication alone has him suddenly furious. It must show in his tone, because Felix only lifts an eyebrow at him.

"Sylvain, most of my clients are spoiled rich kids and bored trophy wives. The trophy wives are looking for a little affair to spice shit up, sometimes." Sylvain's eyes go wide and Felix snorts. "It's not as cool as you're probably thinking right now."

What Sylvain is actually thinking is that Felix is not the kind of person made to be used, he's not like Sylvain; his fingers curl tight around the railing as he keeps his face neutral.

"Anyways," Felix continues, "I don't sleep with my clients, _especially_ not the married ones, because I'm not a prostitute and I'm not trying to get fired. So, that sucks." He finishes the cigarette and pulls the last from the pack with a raised eyebrow at Sylvain.

"God, no, it's all yours." He dutifully drags from his own, and he can tell Felix is trying not to smile at him. That's good, it's better than that miserable, beaten look he'd had. "Oh, shit," he's hit with a realization, "if you need me to pay more for the kittens—"

"No, no, that's." He actually does smile, now, but it's something rueful. "One client isn't going to bankrupt me. It's. Ugh." He rubs his hand over his face before lighting the final cigarette. "I was already having a shitty week and then my fucking old man emailed me." He glares off into the dark over the parking lot, freshly lit cigarette dangling between his fingers like it's been forgotten.

“You don't get along, I take it?” Felix barks out something too harsh to be classified as laughter.

“No.” He seems to remember the cigarette and takes a long drag. “I wouldn't talk to him at all, but the last time I went silent he showed up at my _job_. So now I read his emails.”

“Holy shit—could you get a restraining order?” Felix looks up at him then in surprise, and this time his laugh is real and amused. Sylvain, thinking of his own father, can't really share in the mirth.

“It's not like that—we just disagree about what I'm supposed to do with my life.” He sighs again, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “So it's been a fucking _week_. I lose some money and then Dad emails about Darling Mitya's latest accomplishment and when am I going to stop fucking around playing with swords and come run the company, like that was _ever_ my goal.”

“It’s frustrating as shit,” he says with an angry little sniff, looking away, and Sylvain realizes Felix is the type who cries when he’s really pissed or frustrated. This knowledge curls something tender around his lungs, and for a second he can't speak. So instead Sylvain snatches the forgotten cigarette from Felix's fingers and takes the last drag.

He blows a perfect smoke ring, something he had practiced with Claude years ago sneaking smokes on the roof of their dorm during a particularly stressful exam season, and he's proud at how it makes the edge of a smile curl on Felix's profile.

“I can sympathize,” Sylvain says, stubbing out Felix's last cigarette and his own on the railing and pocketing the butts to throw away later. “Y'know, I was supposed to be a lawyer? Can you fucking imagine?” Felix turns then, leans back on the railing and focuses on Sylvain, letting him become the distraction he needs; for a moment Sylvain forgets what he was saying under that serious gaze that says, _yes, I could imagine you as a lawyer_.

“So,” he coughs, “I'm supposed to be a lawyer. Follow in the family footsteps, take over the firm, et cetera. My dad is exactly what yours isn't,” he adds, clasping his hands and letting them dangle over the railing. “So when my older brother proved to be a fuckup by his standards, he packed me off to boarding school so I wouldn't wind up the same. Worst thing he could have done, since that's where I learned to _be_ a fuckup.” Sylvain throws Felix one of his patented charming smirks.

“How old were you?” Felix asks, and Sylvain hums.

“Nine?”

“Fuck.” Sylvain shrugs.

“Kept my brother from beating the shit out of me when dear old dad beat the shit out of him, so I'm not complaining.”

“_Fuck_.” Sylvain shrugs again. His childhood was what it was.

“Anyways, prestigious boarding school where I was meant to become the perfect heir to the famous family firm. Instead I made a lot of friends with similar backgrounds, who were very supportive when I dropped out of law school my first year and broke off my arranged marriage and ran off to art school.” Felix is staring at him with his copper eyes so wide they're like pennies, and that has Sylvain grinning.

“Dad's still pissed about the heiress I blew off, but he figures I'll come to my senses when the lifestyle of a broke artiste gets boring. Plus it would be too big of a scandal to disown me, now.” Miklan's death had been scandalous enough. Tragic and stupid and _scandalous_.

“Why don't I know _anyone_ whose father isn't garbage?” Felix asks, and Sylvain is startled into a fit of real laughter. He thinks about it, and he can't say that any of his friends have good fathers either. Well, none living. He turns like Felix to lean his lower back and elbows on the railing, just looking at him.

Felix looks slightly less miserable, more worn out now than furious. A little shiver runs through his shoulders when a breeze passes.

“I don't know. You gonna be out here much longer?” Felix turns around to look back over the parking lot, sighs and tips his head back, and Sylvain stares at his eyelashes when he scrunches his eyes closed.

“Maybe? Probably.” He tilts his head towards Sylvain. “Why?”

“Well, it's late,” Sylvain is already taking off his jacket, “and I have an early start tomorrow. You probably do, too, but I won't tell you what to do.” He drapes his jacket over Felix's shoulders. “It's cold out, and I'm going inside, so take it,” he says over Felix's protesting.

“Thanks,” he practically grumbles, but he shrugs into the jacket, puts his arms through the sleeves, and his fingertips just pass the cuffs. It's so fucking cute Sylvain wants to kiss him, and he reminds himself for the millionth time that he doesn't make out with people in committed relationships against the hall-railing in front of his apartment.

Which, honestly, brings him to:

“And, it's not any of my business, obviously, but,” he can't fucking help himself because he's a mess, “maybe it should be Ashe out here suffering ancient menthols and lending you his jacket?” Felix blinks at him for a moment, confusion and something like hurt that burns in Sylvain's stomach crossing his face.

“Why would _Ashe_ be out here? It's like midnight and he lives on the other side of town—“

“Haha, wow, he did _not_ strike me as a shitty boyfriend, but I guess—“

“Boyf—_boyfriend_? Wait, I'm, hold on. Hold on.” Felix lifts a hand between them, his entire face pink. “Please tell me _exactly why_ you thought I was dating Ashe, so I can fix whatever it is before his _husband_ gets the same stupid idea and tries to snap me in half.”

“Hus—_what_? Just! You guys are so domestic! Every time I see you you're carrying groceries or potted plants—“ He stops because Felix has his face in his hands and he's laughing, and _fuck_ he's so beautiful, his laugh is so nice, low and warm and Felix _snorts_ when he's really going. Sylvain winds up just staring at him with a dopey smile while he waits for Felix to catch his breath.

“Sylvain, for someone with all those chess trophies, you're such a dumbass. Ashe is my only friend with a _car_.” Felix finally peeks up from his hands, his face still pink and his eyelashes wet, little tears of laughter glistening in the corners of his eyes before Felix swipes them away with the sleeve of Sylvain's coat. “Do you think I'm carrying two weeks worth of groceries or taking my cat to the vet on my _motorcycle_?”

“No! I thought you were doing that in your _boyfriend's car_!” Felix puts a hand over his mouth and nose to hold back another snort of laughter, and Sylvain realizes what Felix had said. “Hey, excuse me, _I_ have a car, thanks.” When Felix just looks confused, Sylvain rolls his eyes. “You said he's your only friend with a car; _I_ have a car.”

“_Sylvain_, I didn't even _know_ you the last time Ashe drove me for groceries.”

“As long as you're not saying we aren't friends!”

“Like I said, way too stupid for all those chess trophies.” His fond tone takes any sting out of it, and Sylvain reels for a second because _Felix is single_ and that is Very Good and Very Bad.

Very Good because Sylvain cannot for the fucking life of him stop thinking about touching and kissing Felix, and now he can fantasize guilt-free. Very Bad, because it's been a long fucking time since Sylvain actually _tried_ to date anyone seriously, and he _knows_ that if he gets involved with Felix it's got to be something more than a three-night-stand that ends with Sylvain being a dickhead.

God, he _really_ can't fuck this up like he always does.

“Gee, I guess that's why I haven't won any chess trophies lately,” he says, practically on autopilot, and pushes away from the railing. “But now that we have established I am your second friend with a car, and I don't live on the other side of town, allow me to humbly offer my chauffeur services.”

“What, you're going to drive me to get groceries?”

“Believe it or not, I buy groceries and eat food, too, Felix. I don't mind driving you; take it or leave it. But,” he points at Felix as he walks backwards to his apartment, pulling keys from his back pocket, “definitely let me know when you take your Mademoiselle to the vet, I'll drive. More child support!” He winks, and Felix ducks his head as his cheeks go pink and he nods.

“If you insist.”

“I do! Goodnight, Felix.” It comes out softer than he intends, and Felix doesn't shrink in on himself so much as he _settles in_ to Sylvain's too-big jacket.

“Goodnight, Sylvain.”

+

Felix is usually up at the crack of dawn, but today he lets himself sleep in. He feels slightly guilty about skipping out on his morning run with Caspar, but he'd been up until far too early; he's teaching children today, and if he makes any of them cry because he's sleep deprived and cranky, it will really be the cherry on this shit-sundae of a week. So, he had let himself sleep in, although it's still quite early by general standards.

He taps at his phone screen to silence his alarm, and squints at the notifications he'd gotten after informing Caspar he wouldn't meet him today.

**[CASPAR💦💦💦]:** np dude!!! get some rest!!!

**[CASPAR💦💦💦]:** dont 4get 2 hydrate tho!!! 💦

**[CASPAR💦💦💦]:**

Felix rolls his eyes fondly at the meme; for some reason Caspar believes Felix will wither and die of dehydration if he does not remind him to drink water in every conversation. He has christened himself Felix's 'hydro bro', and had entered his name with a hilarious illiteracy for emojis. Felix doesn't care enough to bother changing it.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, which is usually enough to satisfy Caspar, and then stares at his contacts for a moment before opening up Ferdinand's.

He _does_ feel slightly guilty about snapping at Ferdinand, especially since he hadn't even been correct about Sylvain being straight. Felix and Ferdinand had been college roommates and their similar schedules, opinions on fathers dictating the course of their lives, and shared interest in weaponry had made unlikely friends of them. The other man is far too chipper for Felix's taste, but he means well, and Felix figures he should probably apologize. He's feeling very magnanimous after last night, anyways.

**[Me]:** Sorry

The little 'read' notification pops up almost immediately, and Felix winces as three little dots appear. Ferdinand always _was_ an early riser.

**[Aegir]:** Good morning! I must say I am surprised to receive an apology, may I inquire after the reason? It is a rare treat from you, Felix.

**[Me]:** Nevermind.

He backs out of that conversation, because Ferdinand is ridiculous, and rolls onto his back to stretch and blink up at his ceiling. He still doesn't feel like getting out of bed yet, with the blankets warm and comfortable around him. It's going to be cold, and he hates being cold.

He thinks about Sylvain giving him his jacket, too big in the shoulders and long in the sleeves, still warm from his body heat and smelling amazing. How he had stood in the cold after Sylvain had gone inside, wrapped in the jacket and breathing in deep gulps of spice and citrus and grinning at how stunned Sylvain had looked about Ashe. And then he had gone inside and hung the coat in his hall closet, because the urge to _sleep_ in it was very strong and that would just be over-the-top creepy of him.

God, he's really got to get the coat back to Sylvain as soon as possible, to remove the source of temptation.

Sylvain had said he had an early morning today, so he might be awake. Felix pulls up their conversation and sighs, thinking.

**[Me]:** If you're up, I can bring youx0v

Felix swears as Mademoiselle Maupin chooses that moment to leap onto his stomach and loudly express her displeasure that he is awake and not feeding her the fancy wet kitten food she eats each morning and evening.

“Oh, what a fool I am, to neglect my diva,” he mutters as she butts her head against the phone in his hands. Sylvain's opera shit is rubbing off on him, but Maupin _does_ chirp and trill and yowl at him with operatic volume when she wants something. His choice of namesake seems to fit her in all respects, with her notched ear and crooked tail telling a story of past scraps and injuries. He rubs his knuckles over her forehead, and the purr he receives has him forgiving her completely for leaping on his guts first thing in the morning.

He pushes her gently off of him and rolls out of bed, following her into the kitchen to fill her bowl before he turns his attention back to his phone.

**[Sylvain]:** ??

**[Sylvain]:** Are you ok?

Felix groans at the message he had not realized he had sent, and the fact that Sylvain appears to be typing, still.

**[Me]:** I'm fine

**[Me]:** Maupin jumped me for not feeding her fast enough

**[Me]:** Anyways I can bring your jacket back if you're still here in 30

**[Sylvain]:** No rush! I'll be here, but you can bring it by whenever

Felix absolutely cannot let the jacket stay in his closet, because he can already imagine coming home from work tonight and sitting on his couch with the jacket around his shoulders and letting himself relax into Sylvain's scent. It's mortifying.

**[Me]:** I'll swing by in 30

**[Sylvain]:** Ok! 😉

Felix goes through his morning routine and is ready in just under thirty minutes, as he had known he would be. He grabs the jacket he wears when he rides his bike and pulls it over his shoulders, followed by his bag, and then takes Sylvain's jacket from the closet.

He indulges himself one last time, presses his face to the soft lining of the collar and inhales; he would really rather be pressing his face to the source, but he's not going to push his luck right now. Just because Sylvain is, at the very least, presumably bisexual, doesn't mean he's necessarily into Felix. And even if he _is_, Felix has never seen him stick with the same partner longer than a week.

He likes Sylvain, beyond just being attracted to him, and he doesn't want to fuck everything up just for some sex. Probably _amazing sex_, but still.

And there's still the whole cat situation.

Felix shakes his head and drapes the jacket over one arm, grabbing his helmet in the other and stepping out of his door. “Have a good day,” he calls to his cat before he locks up, and then he goes over to knock on Sylvain's door.

“Morning!” He opens it almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for Felix, and he looks _good_; hair still slightly damp from his morning shower, dressed in a tight t-shirt and jeans and work boots. Felix offers him the jacket to stop himself from staring, and Sylvain smiles and waves him into his apartment as he goes to hang it up. “You really didn't have to bring it back first thing.”

“It's fine,” Felix says, standing with his back to the inside of the door. “Actually I wanted to check if you're free next week on Friday, around three?” He hadn't really thought about it until he was standing here in Sylvain's apartment, but Sylvain doesn't have to know that, and he looks at Felix with surprise that's tinged with pleasure as he closes the closet and leans a shoulder against it.

“I can be, if you want me to be.” Fuck, his tone is warm and toeing the line of outright flirtation. Felix shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he feels his face heat.

“Are you _actually_ free, though? Maupin has an appointment, and you _did_ say to let you know, but if you're busy I already had Ashe—“

“I'm free,” Sylvain interrupts, his smile spreading. “When and where do you want me?”

Fuck, _fuck_, maybe it was better when Sylvain thought he was dating Ashe, because now Felix can't tell if he's saying this shit on purpose or not. Felix doesn't know if it's _better_ if it's on purpose or not. He reminds himself that sex, _amazing or not_, is not on the table right now.

“I can text you the address for the clinic, and meet you at my apartment? The appointment is at 3:30, so, whatever time you think we need to leave for you to get us there on time.” Felix shrugs, and Sylvain nods.

“Sure, no problem. Anything else? I don't wanna tie you up when you're busy.” God, he _has_ to be doing this on purpose. Smug, handsome bastard.

“Uh, no, that's it. I'll text you,” he says as he opens the door and flees into the hall. Sylvain follows to see him off, waving with a little wink and _watching_ as Felix hurries down the hall as fast as he can go without actually running.

Felix stops in the stairwell to collect himself, because he's so stupidly flustered he's going to trip down the stairs or drive his bike into traffic. It's not like no one ever flirts with him, obviously, but he's usually not _interested_. And it had been a lot easier to brush off the shit Sylvain said when Felix thought he was straight, and before the man realized Felix was single and apparently decided to flirt in earnest.

He drags a frustrated hand over his face, as if he could wipe the stupid blush off of it, and pulls out his phone for a distraction. He shoots Ashe a quick text to let him know Sylvain will take him on Friday instead, and Ashe's response is quick; Felix keeps forgetting most of his friends are early risers.

**[Ashe]:** Good for you! Go get him!

Felix groans and decides he hates all of his friends.

+

Sylvain had found the bubble-envelope in his mail, sandwiched between two junk fliers. It was addressed from 'Annie' to 'Felix', no last names, and it was sealed with an adorable sticker of a cartoon cat. He wondered if Felix had a younger sister, and had resolved to bring it over to Felix some time the next evening.

That was before he woke up to noise from Felix's apartment, coming through the wall of Sylvain's bedroom.

A rhythmic sort of grunting that Sylvain is really trying not to attribute to strenuous sex. It's very difficult, though, and Sylvain finds himself pacing in his living room while Garfield watches him from the back of the couch.

Felix is probably not having loud, rough sex in the corner of what is probably his living room! Not that Sylvain has ever been into Felix's apartment to judge the layout. For all he knows, Felix's bed is right in that corner. He grimaces and scrubs his hands through his hair.

It's almost time for Felix to go to work, anyways, he usually heads out like clockwork. Does it make sense for Felix to be fucking right before work? Maybe he has the day off, or a late morning?

Maybe Sylvain is just crazy, because it's not really any of his _business_ if Felix is having sex or not, right? Sylvain _really _likes him, and they've flirted a bit, and he _thinks_ Felix is attracted to him, but that doesn't mean they're like, committed.

After a minute he groans and drags his hands down his face. He stalks back into his room to get dressed, because if he's going to show up at Felix's door 'casually' so he can reassure his paranoia he's not going to do it in pajamas. He checks himself in the mirror and decides his hair is disheveled but in a sexy way, and jams his feet into his shoes.

He snags the envelope on his way out, and in moments he's knocking on Felix's door.

When it swings open to reveal a shirtless man who is _not_ Felix, Sylvain plasters a grin on his face and tries not to crumple the mail in his suddenly tight fingers. The guy is a little shorter than Sylvain, but he's ripped, and he's cute in a sporty sort of way, with bright blue eyes and hair.

"Hey, is Felix in? I'm from next-door—"

"Ohhhh, _you're_ the neighbor?" What does _that_ mean? "Come on in, man, Fe's in the shower 'cause we worked up a crazy sweat." Sylvain reminds himself he cannot punch this stranger in his smug little face, and follows him into the apartment.

The furniture is mismatched but comfortable, and there are several blankets strewn across the couch and chairs. Sylvain guesses Felix is sensitive to the cold. There's a small bookshelf packed to the brim with books, and a rack of honest-to-god swords on the wall.

In front of the window is a low table covered in potted plants, with a noticeable gap of space in the middle that is just about cat-sized. Sylvain can't help smiling at that, the evidence of Mademoiselle Maupin's impact on Felix's life.

And there, in the corner of the room, is a set of weights. The guy sees his eyes on the weights and grins. "Do you lift? Oh, I'm Caspar." He extends a hand to shake, and Sylvain still kind of wants to punch him, but less so now that he thinks it's unlikely Caspar was fucking Felix in that corner of the living room. The problem is that doesn't mean they didn't fuck _at all_, which Sylvain shouldn't feel pissed about, but. Horny-brain isn't always rational.

"Not for pleasure," he answers with his grin still in place, and shakes Caspar's hand. "I do a lot of building at work. Sylvain, by the way."

"Yeah, Felix said. Told him he should invite you for our morning runs, but he's stubborn." Caspar rolls his eyes and makes his way back to the weights. "Do you mind if I lift? I was in the middle of reps." Sylvain shakes his head, and Caspar smiles and sweeps his arm around the room. "Make yourself at home, dude."

Sylvain does, sitting in a corner of the couch and settling into the soft cushions, and there's a brrrp noise by his feet and then a cat in his lap.

"Ah, greetings, Mademoiselle." He leans back while the cat plants paws on his chest and licks at his chin, before settling her extra heavy weight into his lap and watching him with half-open eyes. He rests a hand on her back and skritches his fingers through her fur, and her eyes close as she settles entirely.

This is how he's sitting when Felix walks out of his bathroom and into the living room, toweling his hair dry. He's barefoot and shirtless, the most exposed Sylvain has ever seen him, and Sylvain can't help staring.

"Hurry up and shower, Bergliez; I want to go in thirty and I'm not leaving you here to burn my apar—" Felix stops toweling his hair and sees Sylvain on the couch, and he stops dead. He doesn't go pink, he turns _scarlet_, the color dusting down his neck to his shoulders. "Ah."

"Hey," Sylvain says, just the tiniest bit strangled. Caspar looks between them and snorts, which draws Felix's attention back to him with a cutting glare.

"_Caspar_—" he starts with a hiss, but Caspar holds his hands up.

"Right, showering, work, not burning down your apartment, I got it." Caspar moves between them and grabs a bag from the front hall, then swings back around and heads into the bathroom. Felix turns back to Sylvain, and they are alone and Sylvain tries very hard to keep his eyes on Felix's face and not his toned shoulders and chest and the line of his stomach over the waist of his tight pants; they wander a bit despite himself.

Felix clears his throat and Sylvain remembers the envelope in his hand.

"Uh, morning, sorry to drop in," he says, belated and striving for normalcy. "I got some of your mail by mistake, kind of just meant to drop it off before you went to work, but your..._friend_ invited me in." Felix looks at him for a second, eyes narrowing, and then he huffs, going back to toweling his hair.

"My _coworker_, who I'm _not_ dating because he's straight and engaged and dumb as a bag of bricks besides, should have just got the mail and let you get back to your morning." Well. That answers that, and Sylvain can't help the goofy grin spreading across his face. Felix looks up at him and winces, flicking his eyes away. "I'm getting dressed," he mutters, and disappears into his room.

Sylvain just waits patiently on the couch, petting Maupin and trying to think extremely unsexy thoughts, because he's practically half-hard just from seeing Felix shirtless, and that's _ridiculous _because Sylvain has seen _plenty_ of people shirtless. Maybe it's the fact he has been eyeballing Felix for _months_, since before they ever really met, and has never seen him in anything lighter than a t-shirt with a cardigan thrown over. He's feeling like a man from the 1800s who just got a flash of naked ankle.

It's only marginally better when Felix returns, fully covered by a sweater layered over a turtleneck and a pair of heavy boots laced tight over his calves. His hair is up in a messy bun instead of his usual ponytail, and damp strands are already falling loose to hang around his face and neck. Sylvain resigns himself with a little sigh to the fact that Felix _always_ looks amazing.

“So, mail?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest, and Sylvain blinks—he had half-forgotten about the envelope again.

“Right, here,” and he holds it out without getting up, because all cat owners know it's illegal to get up when the cat is in your lap. Felix comes over to take it, sighing.

“Maupin, move your fat ass, he has to leave soon.” Sylvain mock-gasps and covers the cat's ears with his hands.

“_Felix_, you can't talk to a _lady_ like that!” Felix rolls his eyes, but his expression lights up when he looks down at the envelope. "Little sister?" Sylvain asks with a nod towards the envelope, and he's treated to that delightful snorting laugh as Felix looks back up at him in surprise and then scrunches his eyes shut with mirth; Sylvain stares at him, tries to use those few seconds to memorize the look. He's used to eye-rolls and scowls or a very pretty resting-bitch-face, and it feels like a treat every time Felix smiles or laughs around him.

"God, I can't wait to tell her that and see her face," he gets out between chuckles. "Nah, my best friend from college. Kind of like Bernadetta," he adds, and Sylvain hums understanding. “Thanks for bringing it, she'd kill me next time I saw her.”

“What, for not getting her mail?” Sylvain looks up at him with a lopsided, questioning smile, and Felix shakes his head, opening the envelope. There's a CD inside in a slimline jewel case, and Felix's smile goes very soft.

“She does little recordings for me, and she would murder me if she thought one of them was out in the wild.”

“Oh, I know how that is—I work in a theater, I'm surrounded by singers and actors and singing actors.” Mentioning work reminds him that he's probably interrupting Felix's morning routine, and he very gently ushers Mademoiselle Maupin off of his lap to stand with a quiet apology for her protest. “I should probably get out of your hair, wouldn't want you to worry about me burning the place down when you leave for work.” Felix rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

“I've seen you cook, I'm not worried about it.” They stand there for a moment as Felix goes slightly pink at the implication that he would be fine with Sylvain being alone in his apartment. “Uh, anyways, don't let me take up any more of your morning. Thanks for bringing this by.”

“Not a problem! I'll see you tomorrow, 2:30, right?” he asks as Felix walks him to the door, and Felix nods.

“Yeah, see you then.” Sylvain goes back to his apartment and flops onto his couch. Garfield comes to sniff at his clothes where Maupin had been, and Sylvain pats at him with a sigh.

“Oh, Mr. President, I'm really screwed, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and for all of your sweet comments! 
> 
> There should be two more chapters and then an epilogue, if I manage to stick to my outline haha
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	4. Chapter 4

Sylvain is turning the car into the parking lot when Felix asks, “So are you heading back to work now, or?” He leaves it hanging, watching Sylvain brush his hair out of his eyes before pulling into an empty space.

“Nah, I pretty much make my own schedule; figured I'd take the rest of the day. Why?” He turns and looks at Felix, who blinks and looks away, concerning himself with his seat-belt.

“Just thought, if you're not doing anything, maybe you want to come over.” He makes his escape from the car and busies himself with getting Maupin's carrier out of the back seat, letting the brisk cold of the day work as an excuse for the frustrated color of his cheeks. All he had done was ask Sylvain to _come over_, and he's already embarrassed. It's pitiful.

Sylvain climbs out of the car and rests his forearms across the roof, watching Felix. “Sure, I'd love to come over. I gotta feed The President, first, but that doesn't take long.” Felix stands for a moment, just staring at the soft little smile on Sylvain's face, until Maupin protests and he jolts.

“Right. I'll leave the door unlocked, just pop in.” His mouth crinkles and he lugs the carrier around the car towards the stairs. Maupin has gotten steadily heavier over the month-and-a-half he's had her, which makes sense. The vet had said she was close to giving birth, probably only a week or two away.

“Need any help?” Sylvain asks, eyes on Felix's hand gripping the handle of the carrier, his knuckles gone white from the strain.

“Just because I'm not six feet tall and ripped doesn't mean I can't carry my cat, Sylvain.” Felix gives him an exasperated eye roll, and catches Sylvain staring at him. “What?”

“Ripped, huh?” He's not smirking, not _quite_, but there's a curve to his lip that says he could easily start.

“You should learn how to do your laundry _before_ you run out of shirts.” He turns and starts up the stairs, Sylvain's warm little laugh following him.

They part ways at their doors, and Felix sighs when he gets into his apartment. He sets the carrier with Maupin on the floor while she makes loud demands for freedom, and undoes the buckles along the sides of his boots, kicking them over to the side of the door. Then he lets Maupin out and follows her into the kitchen, tossing his jacket on the back of a chair as he passes.

He's feeding Maupin her wet dinner when Sylvain knocks and then slips into the apartment. Felix hears him moving around, taking off his own shoes and neatly setting them by the door, folding his coat before he drapes it over the back of a chair. Felix smiles to himself; the whole neat-and-tidy thing is kind of cute.

“So,” Sylvain says behind him, and when Felix turns he finds him leaning against the door frame. “What's the plan?” Felix's eyes linger on Sylvain's stupidly broad shoulders as he reminds himself the plan is _not_ to climb him like a tree.

“Hungry?” he asks, and then amends himself because Sylvain is giving him that same pleased, alert look he gets when they're alone and Felix says anything that could remotely be taken as an invitation. “It's late enough for dinner.” Sylvain crosses his arms with a nervous little chuckle.

“Didn't you say you were a terrible cook?”

“I was going to order pizza, you ass.”

“Haha, ok, I can always do pizza.” They move into the living room and Sylvain sits on the couch, Maupin following and jumping into his lap. “Oof, hello.” It reminds Felix too much of the last time Sylvain sat on his couch, and a hot little flash of vulnerability hits him.

Felix holds his phone up in front of his face, almost like a shield, and pulls up the app for his favorite local pizzeria. The pizza is alright, but it's his favorite because the owner, Mr. Hrym, is his favorite client—the guy doesn't need an instructor, he just wants someone skilled to cross swords with, and it's one of the few times Felix really loves his job.

“Is Jeritza's ok?”

“Oh yeah, I love that place! Just order whatever you want, I'm not picky.” Felix's eyebrow goes up.

“Are you sure, because 'whatever I want' is a meat lover's with double jalapeno and red pepper flakes.” Sylvain laughs and waves a hand.

“I'm not shy around meat and I like things hot,” he says, and Felix does not know _how_ the fuck he keeps a straight face. Maybe he didn't mean it like that and Felix is the one here with brain worms. Either way he feels his face go hot before he hunches over his phone and taps in his order. “Oh!” Felix looks up, and Sylvain is turned towards him, leaning on the arm of the couch. “Actually, can we get an order of the sweet buns? Those things are fucking bomb.”

Felix wrinkles his nose, but adds an order of sweet buns. “They're all yours,” he says, and Sylvain frowns the smallest bit.

“You don't like the sweet buns? We could get something else, the cinnamon thing is pretty good.”

“I don't eat sweets,” Felix answers. “Drink preference?”

“Go nuts.” Felix thinks of the few times they've eaten together, and adds a two liter of Dr. Pepper before he confirms the order. When he looks back up, Sylvain is watching him. “So, the sweets, is that like, a taste thing, or a health-nut thing?”

“_How_ did you win so many chess trophies?” Felix asks, but he can't help smiling. “I just ordered a pizza, what d'_you_ think?”

“I dunno, maybe it's your cheat day,” Sylvain says with an answering grin.

“I don't diet,” Felix says, shaking his head, and he joins Sylvain on the couch, stepping over his outstretched legs to sit at the other corner of the couch. Maupin moves back into Sylvain's lap while Felix grabs remotes and turns on his television, booting up his jailbroken firestick (thanks Ashe) and handing Sylvain the remote. “You pick.”

He lugs Maupin away from Sylvain and into his own lap so the other man can search, and he only snorts and rolls his eyes when Sylvain teases about his prior Netflix history (“High Fantasy Films? _Anime,_ Felix?”). By the time the food arrives Felix has agreed, with an incredible amount of feigned, dramatic fussing, to watching a musical film Sylvain claims will 'make him a believer in musical theater'.

He doesn't tell Sylvain that he actually enjoys musicals, he just doesn't care for _opera_; let him be surprised.

Somewhere in the middle of a [scene](https://youtu.be/lN4TxOd9I8Q) where a bunch of shirtless men in capes and ridiculous hats are climbing scaffolding in the desert and singing about how Jesus has to die, Felix turns mid-sip of his drink to look at Sylvain.

Sylvain is curled in the corner of the couch, the box of sweet buns balanced on his knee, and he has just popped the last bite of one into his mouth with a contented hum. There's a sheen of glaze icing on his lips, and a line of it down his chin, and _fuck_ it really looks like something a hell of a lot more lewd than _icing_.

Felix's brain short circuits.

And then, Sylvain _licks his lips_ and wipes the line of icing off of his chin with a thumb and _licks his thumb clean_ with a little laugh and says, “Shit, this is always so messy,” and Felix is suddenly so horny he chokes.

Literally—he inhales the soda he has in his mouth, spitting soda into his hand as he coughs and Sylvain slaps him on the back.

“Oh shit, are you good? I don't know the Heimlich or CPR, please do not pass out and die,” Sylvain says worriedly as Felix continues with wet, retching coughs, and he mentally curses himself as he waves his hands at Sylvain.

“Swallowed wrong,” he wheezes when he can finally manage, pushing up from the couch. “M'fine, gonna clean up,” he adds between more painful coughing. Fuck.

He locks himself in the bathroom and leans against the sink and the wall, coughing miserably as he washes soda off of his hands. Shit. _Fuck_.

Felix is in _so_ deep, he really is going to have to make a decision soon here. He splashes water on his hot face, looks at himself in the mirror.

He is going to have to either distance himself before he gets too attached, or give in and just fuck Sylvain already before he does any more mortifying shit like choking on soda because the guy is _too sexy_ on accident.

“Get your shit together, Fraldarius,” he whispers angrily to his reflection, before he goes back to join Sylvain again on the couch.

+

At least once a month, Sylvain gets together with his closest friends at a little breakfast bistro for a Sunday brunch he has privately dubbed The Terrible Fathers Club.

The unofficial club consists of Bernadetta, Mercedes, Dorothea, Marianne, Ingrid, and of course Sylvain himself. Ingrid is the reason he keeps his little name for their club to himself, because _she_ doesn't think her father is awful, but Sylvain and 'Thea agree that constantly trying to set your daughter up in contract marriages to save your business is shitty. Sometimes Mercie's wife joins them, and from what Sylvain's heard her dad ditched, so he considers Annette an honorary member.

Today though, it's just Sylvain and the Regulars; he smiles into his customary Brunch Peach Bellini and thinks about the irony of the fact that all of his closest friends are women.

“So,” Ingrid is explaining the details of her recent engagement as she butters one of the complimentary biscuits, “I finally just asked him to marry me.” Brows go up across the table, and Sylvain shares a look with 'Thea. “Raph was surprised I _wanted_ to get married,” she adds with a sigh. “All my complaining about dad's matchmaking made him think I wasn't interested in marriage at all, or he would have asked me himself ages ago.”

“Well, I'm glad you and Raphael worked that out,” Mercie says, spooning sugar into her tea; she was driving. “Marianne, dear, you look like you want to say something.”

“O-oh, well,” Marianne starts, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and staring shyly at the tablecloth, “it's not anything as big as Ingrid's news.”

“Come on, Mari,” Sylvain cajoles, smiling soft, “I'm on the edge of my seat, here.” Marianne sighs, but she looks up at them with a hesitant smile, and that's much better.

“Um, well, you know I've been going on outings and things with Dimitri? He asked me to be his girlfriend, officially.” She smiles small and pleased and pink, and Sylvain grins and congratulates her while the rest of the girls gush.

Sylvain has known Marianne since the last few years of boarding school, when her adoptive father enrolled her. She had been almost a ghost at first, until Claude had worked his people skills and unearthed a gentle, caring person from underneath the funeral shroud. All of her friends agree that she is pretty much a literal angel.

Her crush on Dimitri had been met with delight, because the man was an honest to god prince charming type—polite and compassionate and a little awkward, but earnest. Sylvain has known him since they were kids, though they hadn't gotten as close as he had with Ingrid because of boarding school. It also didn't help that Sylvain hadn't attended the funeral after Dimitri's parents were killed in a tragic house fire—he had wanted to, of course, but his father had insisted that he couldn't leave school for so long and risk doing poorly on exams.

As the name of the club implies, Sylvain has a Terrible Father.

“You know what this means,” Dorothea says, turning to point a perfectly manicured nail at Sylvain. “You're the only one of us left who's single.”

“Oh!” They all look at Bernadetta. “How is it going with your neighbor?” Sylvain grins.

“Really good, actually! I am eighty percent sure he's into me.”

“_I_ can't believe you're still interested and haven't moved on yet,” Ingrid says, surprised and buttering her second biscuit, and Sylvain puts an affronted hand on his chest.

“Hey, be proud of me! I haven't even put the moves on him yet, which like, coming from me? I should be getting a medal. The guy makes me so hard it could be an actual medical emergency, and I have been _so_ well behaved.”

“Sylvain, you are _disgusting_,” Ingrid groans even as Dorothea cackles.

“God, I can't believe he's not falling at your feet, you're such a romantic,” she says, and Sylvain hides his wince in the rim of his glass and hopes he can wash down the little flash of self-loathing with a generous sip of alcohol and fruit. Trust 'Thea to hit him where it hurts without even trying.

“When are you going to tell us this delightful man's name?” Mercie asks, because she's always too perceptive to miss any of his winces, and Sylvain grins again. He's made it a private policy not to use names when he talks to his girls about his Girls, half so he won't get them mixed up and half so they (read: Ingrid) can't scold him if he talks about several different names in too short a span of time.

“Well, I was hoping I could just introduce him to you, if Ingrid will lift her ban on my plus one status for her party Saturday.” Ingrid isn't much of one for a fuss, but she had decided her engagement to a man of _her_ choice called for a celebration among her friends. Sylvain shoots her a hopeful look, and she narrows her eyes at him before sighing.

“Ok, but _only_ this once, and _only_ because I haven't seen you be serious about someone in years. If you make a scene, I _will_ toss you off my balcony.”

“Oh, never fear, beloved Ingrid—I'll save the scene for when I get him home.”

The only thing that saves him from another round of scolding is the arrival of their food.

The conversation turns to safer things, like work and a new show they ought to stream and the newest restaurant review Ingrid has posted on her blog. They enjoy their brunch as usual and schedule their next get-together while they wait for their checks, and as they're leaving Ingrid stops Sylvain.

“Is everything ok with you?” When his brow crinkles in confusion, she continues before he can ask. “You've been pretty cagey about this mystery guy.”

“Cagey?”

“Like, you just seem kind of weird and you won't tell us his name—“

He cuts her off with an incredulous laugh. “I _never_ tell you their names, Ingrid. Besides, Bear met him, she thinks he's nice.”

Ingrid huffs and continues to stare at him in concern. “Sylvain.” They engage in a staring match for a moment, but Sylvain is the one who gives in first with a long sigh.

“I just. I _really_ like this guy, Ingrid. Like, enough that I actually _care_ if I fuck it up?”

“Wow, does he have magic powers?” she teases, and Sylvain rolls his eyes.

“No, he's just.” Sylvain sighs again. “He's nice? He's kind of shy, it's cute. But he's funny, too, in a kind of dry and bitchy way. And he likes musicals—he pretends not to, but he _totally_ paid attention when I showed him JCS. _And_, he likes _me_, I think, because when he met Bear he was totally jealous of her for like, ten minutes.”

When he stops, he realizes Ingrid is staring at him like she's not sure who he is. He should probably not add anything about the dorky rack of swords on his wall, or how sweet he is with the cats, or how warm and fuzzy Sylvain gets when Felix does the thing where he ducks his head to hide his smallest smiles. “Also he's smoking hot?”

“Ok, there's the Sylvain I know and recognize,” she teases, but she still puts a hand on his arm and gives him a warm smile. “I'm happy for you, Sylvain; I hope it works out. I'd really like it if you brought him to my party.” He pulls her into a one-armed hug, his smile painful.

“Thanks, Ingrid.”

+

Felix ignores the first call, and the second, and ignores the voicemail until he gets the text.

**[Ingrid]:** Felix Hugo do not make me come to your apartment

**[Me]:** You don't have my address

**[Ingrid]:** Ashe loves me

“Fuck,” he mutters. Trust Ingrid to hit below the belt. He pulls up his voicemail and puts it on speaker, Ingrid's voice sounding just slightly off as it pours from the phone.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, pick up your _damn_ phone so I can tell you my news. You won't meet me face-to-face like a civilized person, so you can at least pick up!” She doesn't sound worried, mostly just exasperated, and he relaxes into his couch. Ingrid is so dramatic, it's not that he _won't_ meet her, he's just been busy with other things more important than getting interrogated by his not-sister. He dials her number, already rolling his eyes.

“Well?” he says when he hears the line connect, before she can even get a greeting out, and he hears her sigh.

“Hello to you, too, Felix! Oh, I'm wonderful, thank you for asking! It's only been three months since we've seen each other!” she says with sarcastic cheer.

“Ingrid, _what_?”

“I'm getting married.” Felix's stomach drops, and he's glad to be seated.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks, and his voice sounds too small.

“I—yes, _sorry_, Felix, I didn't think. Ugh, this is why I wanted to do this _in person_,” she huffs. “Yes, it's good, it's not one of dad's contracts.”

Felix breathes in, tries to steady himself. His brother had been _one of dad's contracts_, before he had died in the same fire that had killed Dimitri's parents; Ingrid was almost his sister, and he has never really stopped thinking of her that way. For years he's been dreading news of her arranged marriage—he may not see her often, but he does love her, and the idea of Ingrid having a contract marriage instead of a grand romance makes him sick. Ingrid loves stories about great sweeping passions, and she deserves to have that for herself.

When he has collected himself enough, he says, “Then I'm happy for you.”

“Thank you, Felix. Really.” The relief in her voice hurts. “So, this weekend, we're having a little celebration at my apartment... _please_ come, Felix?” Ugh, he can practically see her big green eyes all shimmery as she turns her mouth into a frown that makes her look like a kicked puppy. It's a face he can't resist, which she knows too well.

“When and what time?” he sighs, and he can _hear_ the grin on her face.

“Saturday at seven?”

“Fine.”

“Ah, I love you, Felix! Thank you! I really can't wait to see you,” she adds, softer, and he mumbles something embarrassed and makes his goodbyes.

He sits for a long moment after he hangs up the phone, thinking. A celebration for Ingrid's engagement will mean several of their friends gathered together. He rubs his hands over his face with a drawn out sigh.

Dimitri will probably be there.

He looks at Maupin, curled under the coffee table, and says, “Fuck this.” He is not going to think about the get-together, or having to see his adopted brother and be civil. He is going to do something productive that is definitely _not_ brooding on how Dimitri will look at him with his blue eye all big and sad and talk about how much he wishes he saw Felix more often and isn't it such a shame they never have family dinners anymore?

He pushes himself up from the couch and goes to grab his laundry basket. He'll start a load of laundry, maybe clean his apartment, do all the boring responsible adult things that numb the brain.

He's halfway through mentally compiling a grocery list when he gets to the laundry room, and then he forgets all about Dimitri and Ingrid because Sylvain is there.

Felix decides he is cursed, because for the first time ever, Sylvain is wearing a shirt.

“Oh, hey, Felix!” Sylvain lights up to see him, and it soothes a little of the anxiety he is _definitely not _experiencing. It's probably for the best, since he needs to do laundry, not stare at Sylvain's shoulders and try to count the freckles there.

“This is new,” Felix says with a raised eyebrow, and Sylvain looks down at himself and laughs.

“Yeah, well, consider this your influence.” Felix stares at him as he puts his laundry basket on top of a closed washer. “You kept questioning my intelligence and it inspired me to learn new skills, like doing laundry before I run out of shirts.” Felix actually laughs, feeling himself relaxing. “Actually, kind of glad I bumped into you,” he adds, and Felix starts dumping his laundry into a washer.

“Oh?” he says, very smartly, because Sylvain has turned around to face him, leaning his hips back against the dryer he's using and propping himself up with his hands along the top edge. Felix very carefully keeps his eyes away from the flex of Sylvain's wrists and forearms, because the bastard has his sleeves rolled up and his arms kind of drive Felix insane.

“Yeah. Uh, one of my best friends is doing like a get together Saturday night, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one?” He says it casually, and Felix scowls down at his laundry in the washer as relaxation takes a hike to make way for frustrated rage.

Fucking. Of Course. Of course Sylvain would ask him out _now_, the one time he has an obligation he really _can't_ cancel on. If he canceled on Ingrid now, he would break her heart _and_ feel like an asshole. For a long minute he doesn't say anything, trying to get ahold of his temper.

“It's not like, a crazy party or anything, just like, lowkey, chill,” Sylvain adds, and Felix is in agony. _Why_ did Sylvain have to ask him _right now_? He wants to go. He would much rather spend his Saturday night with Sylvain than with _Dimitri_.

“I can't, I'm busy Saturday,” he manages, and he's proud that he sounds controlled and polite instead of fucking pissed. “Sorry.”

“It's cool, no big deal, it's like, whatever!” It's even more casual, and Felix glances over to see him with his arms up, hands crossed behind his head. “Well, I'm all done here for now, so I'll catch you later.” Sylvain's arms fall, and he brings one hand up with a little gesture of parting like a lazy half-salute.

“Yeah, later.” He watches as Sylvain leaves, and the anger slowly ebbs out of him to be replaced with bitter disappointment.

He and Sylvain have been dancing around each other for two months, and Felix knows it's mostly his own fault—Sylvain hasn't exactly been disguising his flirting or the way he looks at Felix, and Felix _knows_ the distance between them is something Sylvain has been respectfully maintaining for Felix's sake.

Felix, for his part, has been maintaining that distance out of...not exactly fear, but. Felix doesn't really date a lot, he's picky and his blunt manner puts people off and it takes him too long to open up, and he's wary of getting too attached to the wrong person. He's done it before, and he doesn't want to deal with the disappointment and the hurt again. And what he's seen of Sylvain's track record hadn't been encouraging.

He's been trying to gauge how serious Sylvain is before he does something he'll regret. Maybe Sylvain really likes him, or maybe Felix is just convenient to flirt with because they live next to each other and the cat situation has thrown them together.

Most of all, he doesn't want to end up like the string of girls going through Sylvain's apartment like a revolving door, only with him for a few days and then left behind when he goes off to the next one. Felix doesn't work that way—if he actually caves and gets together with Sylvain, he needs it to actually _be_ 'getting together' instead of just 'fooling around'.

Not like it'll probably happen now, anyways. He feels like he just shot down his one chance.

Felix wonders if Sylvain will take someone else to his friend's party, and he slams the lid on the washer closed way harder than necessary.

+

Sylvain leans his back against the inside of his front door the moment he gets inside, fumbling his phone out of his pocket and sending off a text message. It doesn't take long for his phone to buzz with an incoming call, and he picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, Claude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))))
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and for your sweet comments! 
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy sorry this took so long, I got really sick this week and spent about 80% of my time asleep!
> 
> This is essentially the final chapter, but it got...huge lmao, so I split it into two!

Sylvain leans his back against the inside of his front door the moment he gets inside.

In a daze he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his contacts, scrolling through and pulling up Claude.

**[Me]:** Hey haha got five minutes for your fave fuckup?

He doesn't wait long before his phone buzzes with an incoming call from **[👑 Ya Boi ♟️🏹]**.

He picks up on the first ring with, “Hey, Claude.”

“Are you in crisis, Sylvain?” comes the warm voice on the other end, the concerned smile coming through in the tone, and Sylvain chuckles weakly.

“Sorta.”

“Financial, Familial, or Fornicational?” This gets a more honest laugh, and Sylvain pushes away from his door and moves into his apartment.

“Uhhh, Fornicational in spirit but not in nature,” he answers, and Claude clucks his tongue.

“So I'm sensing this is more than a five minutes thing—gimme a sec, let's grab a drink and get comfy.” That's good advice, and Sylvain gets himself a glass of water and settles into his couch. He hears Claude on the other end, muffled as he speaks to someone, and then he's back. “Alright, tell Claude all about it.”

He gives Claude the basics: his gorgeous neighbor Felix, President Garfield's little scandal, Sylvain's offer of child support, the growing friendship-slash-flirtation between himself and Felix.

“So Ingrid actually gave me permission to bring a date, which hasn't happened since—“

“Stephanie, I remember.”

“Right, and I thought, y'know, Felix seemed to like me, sort of.” Felix smiles at him sometimes, and he laughs, and he blushes and flirts back, and follows Sylvain with his eyes. And Sylvain knows that means Felix is attracted to him, somewhat, but that doesn't mean he _likes_ Sylvain. Sylvain knows well enough that those two things aren't mutually exclusive. He also doesn't entirely trust his own judgement on whether or not he is _likable_.

“So what changed your mind?” Claude knows him so well.

Sylvain pulls his knees up to his chest and presses his forehead to them with a forced little laugh. “Well, he rejected me.” Claude sighs something long and a little sad.

“Give me a rundown, because that could mean anything, Sylvain.” It feels cruel, but it's important, Sylvain knows; he gets into his own head sometimes, and it fucks things up for him. It had fucked things up for him with Claude, for instance, but they were also stupid teenage boys, and they had gotten over it.

“Ok, so, I bumped into him and he seemed pretty happy to see me, right. So I thought, it was as good a time as any to ask him! So I said 'my friend's having a party Saturday, d'you wanna go with me' and he just...” Sylvain scrubbed his free hand through the hair at the back of his head with a little noise of frustration. “It was like a switch flipped and he just went cold on me. And he was like, 'I'm busy Saturday, sorry' but he didn't _sound_ sorry.”

“And I mean, I guess, I've been really _trying_ this time, and I thought I was doing pretty good? I really thought he liked me. But I fucked something up, and I don't know what I did, because I'm fucking stupid and it's never good enough.”

“_Sylvain_,” Claude starts, and it's too harsh, almost angry. Sylvain winces, and he hears Claude take a deep breath. “Sylvain,” he starts again, softer, “you're smart as hell. You're funny, and thoughtful, and creative, and you're generous. You take care of your friends. Hell, you've even got a nice ass.” This gets a small, choked laugh. “I'm proud of you, Sylvain. Just because your prick father doesn't see how good you are doesn't mean you're _not good_.”

Sylvain flinches violently.

When he was younger, very young, his father had praised him for things. Nothing Miklan did seemed to please him, and Sylvain suffered for that, but he still was happy to have his father's attention—his father was _good,_ the _best_, because Sylvain was a child and he hadn't learned his own worth yet. Miklan was the one who hurt him, so Miklan was the one who was bad and wrong. That was his father's opinion, after all.

And then he had gone to school and his father had told him, “Make me proud.” And Sylvain had tried. He had _tried_. Top academics, excellence in sports, glowing praise from his instructors. But the praise from his _father_ never came, only reminders not to let the family name down, not to shame him. Sylvain had bent himself into a fucking pretzel for his father, twisting in all the ways he thought would make him proud, and nothing ever came of it but reminders that he had to be perfect.

He had given things up—polo, for one, in the hopes that maybe focusing on chess, where his accomplishment was singular instead of shared, would finally bring even an ounce of pride. He had stopped drawing, because his father thought art was frivolous, and he knew _that_ was not a field that would ever make his father care. He had accepted a contract to marry a girl he'd never met, because his father wanted it.

None of it had mattered.

He had finally snapped in his first year of law school and started trying to live the way _he_ wanted, and he's much happier now, but Sylvain still hasn't figured out how to handle rejection without shattering.

“Sylvain? Talk to me, babe.” Ah, he's gone and worried Claude, now. He sniffs and scrubs at the moisture on his face.

“I'm good, I'm.” His voice is wet, and he's not good, but. “Thanks.”

“Hey, any time, you know that. You'd do the same. Now,” he starts, “I want to remind you that this might not even be about you. Maybe he's got his own issues. You've been hanging out for, what, two months? And he's only invited you to his place once?”

Sylvain resettles himself on the couch, leaning on his side and palming at his eyes to swipe away the last of his tears. “Yeah, but like, he's really shy. And kind of private.”

“Maybe he's not ready to go on a date yet. Or maybe meeting your friends made him nervous? Or, maybe, he's actually busy Saturday.”

“God, it's really sexy when you talk sense,” Sylvain says with a little laugh. “I just... I mean he probably is busy, if he really didn't like me he'd tell me to fuck off. He's that type. It was just...”

“He acted weird and you got spooked.”

“Yeah.”

“That's ok. But look, will you do something for _me_, that's really doing something for your_self_?” Claude sounds sincerely concerned, and Sylvain has always been weak to that.

“What is it?”

“Will you talk to Bern again about that doctor? And make an appointment? You only have to try it once, just to see if it helps.”

Sylvain sighs and wriggles a little on his couch. Bear had given him a business card for her therapist, a Dr. Eisner, months ago. Sylvain didn't doubt that the guy did good work, he'd been helping Bernadetta for years, but Sylvain didn't like the idea of discussing all of his fucked up inner workings with a stranger. Especially a stranger equipped with the qualifications to judge just how _thoroughly_ fucked up he was. But.

“Ok, I'll go, _once_.”

“Good. I don't like thinking about you hurting; I love you, man.”

“Yeah—yeah, I love you, too, Claude.”

“Alright—now, I take your mind off it!”

And Claude does.

+

Felix is fucking miserable.

He hasn't talked to Sylvain in four days.

Well, they've said 'hi' in passing, it's not like he's being completely ignored, but they aren't actually _talking_ the way Felix is used to. Sylvain isn't texting him or stopping him for chats, barely looks at him when they do see each other.

He feels like he got to the dismissed ex-girlfriend phase without passing Go, and he definitely didn't collect two hundred dollars. If he had _at_ _least_ fucked Sylvain, he might have gotten something good out of the whole mess.

It's enough to make him think about buying a new pack of stress smokes, but instead he winds up having dinner with Annette at Ashe and Dedue's restaurant.

"Why didn't you just ask him out?"

Felix rolls his eyes as he chews, and then takes a sip of his drink. "What was I supposed to say? Sorry I can't go to your party, but hey, fuck _your_ friends, why don't you come to _my_ friend's party instead?"

Annette narrows her eyes at him with a familiar pout. "No, you jerk, I _meant_, why didn't you tell him you couldn't do it Saturday and ask if he wanted to go out another time!"

Felix stops chewing the bite of perfectly spiced lamb and stares at her. Her eyes start to widen, and he shifts his gaze to his plate as he swallows.

"You didn't even think about it, did you?"

"_Look__—_"

"_Felix__—_"

"I was preoccupied!"

"_With what_?!" She is starting to get loud.

"_Dimitri!"_ He hisses, trying _not_ to get loud, because Ashe may be one of his best friends, but Dedue is _Dimitri's_ best friend. Yelling about how much his brother frustrates him will not end well.

And he doesn't want to get banned because honestly no one cooks lamb like Dedue does.

Annette deflates, anyways. "Of course. Sorry, I wasn't thinking about him." Felix sighs, because he knows that Annette wasn't thinking about Dimitri because she was thinking about _Felix._

"It's fine."

"You don't _have_ to talk to him, you know—" she starts, but his snort cuts her off.

"Are you really trying to tell me I can ignore Dimitri at _Ingrid's party_? He'll just make that sad face at me because I don't want to talk about my father or how the company is doing or whatever new thing he's forcing himself to do to make everyone _else_ happy, and then Ingrid will climb up my ass until I stand there and nod at his prattling like I'm not thinking about punching him in the stomach."

Annette has stopped eating entirely to stare at him with a sad little frown. "He loves you, you know." Felix grits his teeth. With anyone else, he would end the conversation and _leave_. Annette though has always had some kind of hold on him, a loose curl of fingers around his heart, so he just scowls down at his nearly empty plate.

"I know that. That's—so do—_ugh_. He makes me furious. Pretending to be some perfect businessman, like running his father's company is all he ever wanted in life. Like he doesn't hate being in boardrooms and all the bullshit maneuvering, or traveling all over the place with an airtight schedule.” Felix hates it, too, because he knows he was _supposed_ to join Dimitri by taking up a spot as VP in their merged companies, which would have taken some of the pressure off of him.

But Felix did _not_ do that, because he couldn't stand letting Glenn's untimely death when he was 13 dictate his entire future, lock him into a course he never wanted.

And he knows Dimitri is too softhearted to ever hold it against him, but it drives him insane to see Dimitri worn out and pretending to be fine and happy, when he would have made a better athlete or a _poet_ than a damn CEO. Felix wants to shake him and scream in his face, but he's done that plenty and it'd never worked, so now he just seethes and comes away from every interaction with Dimitri feeling disgusted and _defeated_.

He would like to see his stupid childhood-friend-turned-brother be _actually happy_ for once, instead of pretending, but Dimitri is too bound up in the idea that everyone's expectations outweigh his own desires.

“It makes me sick just looking at him,” Felix finishes, and Annette sighs, because she _knows_ exactly how Felix thinks and feels about this. They've talked it out often enough over the years. She still has trouble letting it go though, because she would personally love to have an estranged family member vying for her attention.

“Well, he won't be the only one there, and you're not the only person he'll want to talk to, y'know. And if you need an excuse, you _could_ dance with me.” Felix scoffs, but he does smile a bit.

“I'm not going to _dance_ with you—“

“Felix, you won the White Heron Cup—“

“We were _freshmen_, and it was also the _stupidest_ competition you've ever bullied me into.”

“I did _not_! _Bully you_!” Felix smirks into her affronted face.

“You're a _huge_ bully, Annie.”

“Ugh, you're the worst. Just evil, Felix. I'm not buying you dessert.”

Felix laughs, even as he signals the waiter over to order dessert for Annette. “I wouldn't eat it, anyways.”

For the first time in days, he's not thinking about Sylvain.

+

Sylvain takes a cab to Ingrid's, because he plans on getting hammered so he doesn't have to think about where Felix is spending his Saturday evening; his motorcycle isn't in the parking lot, so Sylvain figures Claude was right and he actually _did_ have plans.

It's not as comforting as it could be, and Sylvain can't help thinking about how they've barely spoken all week.

He had pulled back a bit, feeling almost burnt by that unexpectedly cold rejection, and had tried to give Felix some space. Maybe Claude had been right, and the invitation was just too soon. He should try something low-pressure first, a one-on-one date instead of throwing Felix to the wolves.

And, a little bit, he had been trying to see if Felix would approach _him._ He hadn't, of course, though he had looked a little confused when Sylvain stopped at bare greetings. Last night he had bumped into him on the landing and Felix had barely mumbled a greeting, a little flash of hurt in his eyes before he settled them back to chest-level and made his escape.

He probably shouldn't have expected Felix to chase him when the whole time Sylvain has been the one starting things, but he can't help feeling kind of bad about it anyways. Shit, he really might have to try therapy.

He's stepping into the parking lot elevator in Ingrid's apartment building when his phone buzzes. He figures it's Ingrid, and he pulls it out of his pocket to tell her he's on his way up but freezes at **[❤️Baby Mama❤️] **in the notification. He very slowly reaches out and presses the button for Ingrid's floor, and then unlocks his phone to check the message.

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]:** Hey

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]:** How's your party?

Fuck... is Felix actually doing the chasing? Sylvain's fingers fly across the screen and he has to delete and retype a few typos in his haste.

**[Me]:** I'm actually still on my way there

**[Me]: **Fashionably late 😉

**[Me]:** What are you up to tonight?

The elevator reaches his stop, and he steps off into the hallway but doesn't walk to Ingrid's door yet, watching the little trio of dots at the bottom of the screen as Felix types.

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]: **My sister's having a party

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]:** I couldn't cancel

That's understandable, Sylvain decides. He couldn't exactly cancel on Ingrid, after all. He hadn't known Felix had siblings, though now that he thinks about it Felix had mentioned his father praising someone else's accomplishments.

The dots are still going for a minute, and Sylvain waits and waits.

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]:** Kind of wish I was at your thing instead

Fuck. Oh fuck.

**[Me]:** Me to

**[Me]:** *too

**[Me]:** Wish you were here, that is

Oh god oh fuck. Sylvain is standing in the hallway in Ingrid's apartment building staring at his phone and _blushing_ because he feels like such a monumental dork. But also, he is very happy.

And also running past Fashionably Late and into Asshole Late, so he locks his screen and hurries down to knock on Ingrid's door.

Raphael is the one who greets him, and he gives Sylvain a one-armed hug and a hearty slap on the back when Sylvain congratulates him.

The party isn't overly large, but Ingrid's apartment is still crowded with many of their good friends. He has the benefit of being tall enough to scan across the sea of heads and locate soft blonde in a slightly fancier braided up-do than usual—Mercie and Annie must have arrived early and bullied Ingrid into dress-up.

He finds Ingrid talking to Ferdinand about, predictably, horses, and joins them for a moment. He likes horses, even if he's not obsessed the way these two and Marianne are, but he's still grateful when Dorothea extracts him with the gift of a mudslide and a bit of gossip about Manuela's newest terrible tinder hookup.

Twenty minutes later he's standing over a cheese tray giving Dimitri date advice—Sylvain may not have great relationship advice, but he knows how to plan a _date—_when Annette comes in from the balcony. He lifts his hand and opens his mouth to call out to her, but the sound strangles in his throat when Felix walks in behind her and makes his way into the kitchen like it's the most normal thing in the world.

“What the fuck...” slips out of him unbidden, and Dimitri looks up from the cheese tray in surprise.

“Sylvain?”

He shakes himself and sets down his second, half-drunk mudslide. “I have to go check something, sorry.” Dimitri nods even as Sylvain is weaving through his friends to get to the kitchen.

Sylvain had not hallucinated—Felix is in Ingrid's kitchen, getting a bottle of water out of the cooler next to the fridge.

He looks good—he always does, but tonight he looks _amazing_. Tight pants in a teal-blue that draws his gaze and glues Sylvain's eyes to his ass for a second, a rich navy-blue turtleneck with sleeves just a tad too long, stopping halfway down his palms, and those stupid sexy motorcycle boots with all the buckles up the side. His hair is in a _braid_, and he's wearing little silver earrings shaped like fucking swords.

Fuck. Sylvain is falling hard and fast and he's pretty sure he's going to slam face-first into the pavement.

“Do you have a secret genie? Or a fairy godmother?” he asks, and Felix actually _yelps_ and jumps, fumbling the water bottle with a hiss of 'fuck'. When he has regained his hold on the bottle, he turns wide eyes on Sylvain.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn't sound pleased, but he doesn't sound angry, either, just shocked.

“I _did_ ask you if you wanted to come to my friend's party this weekend? But I recall you said no.” Felix blinks at him, mouth dropping open. “I thought you said you were at your sister's?”

“I _am_,” Felix says, and then waves the water bottle in a little circle to indicate the apartment. “_We_ are.” Sylvain frowns.

“Ingrid does _not_ have a brother named Felix, I know all of her brothers.”

“She's not _actually_ my sister, she almost married my—“ Felix flinches, coughs. “We grew up together, she's basically my sister.” Sylvain stares at him for a long moment as everything falls into place, and then:

“Holy fucking shit, you're Felix _Fraldarius_.” Felix nods, confused, and, “I'm Sylvain _Gautier_.”

“Oh, _fuck_.” Felix's eyes drop closed and his head falls back. “Of _course_, how many fucking people are named _Sylvain_?”

“Uh, excuse me, my name is great, _but_, like, _yeah_, how did you not recognize me?”

“How did _I—_I was like _three_ the only time we met! I saw your _brother_ more than—“ Felix stops, eyes wide. “Shit.”

“Right.” Dead brothers are a sore point for both of them, they are both realizing. “Ok. This is really weird,” Sylvain says with a little laugh, because this is _really weird_, and Felix nods. “Not, like, bad weird, though?”

“...No, just... soap opera weird.” Sylvain laughs, and a smile is spreading slow across Felix's face. Felix's free hand fiddles with the end of his sleeve. “We should talk more about it later, you probably have a date to get back to?” Oh. That's interesting. Felix isn't making eye contact, so he can't see the tiny smile on Sylvain's face.

“But you're right here.” Felix jolts and blinks at him, and Sylvain lifts a hand to the back of his neck, sheepish. “Although you never _did_ say you'd be my date.”

“What are you boys getting up to in here?” Dorothea moves around them to fill a cup with ice.

“Just chatting,” Sylvain says, because Dorothea will latch onto gossip like a shark scenting blood. “Do you know Felix?”

'Thea hums as she mixes a drink over the ice. “Sure, he works with Ferdie, don't you, Fe?” Felix frowns at the nickname, but he nods. “How do you two know each other?” she asks.

“We're neighbors,” Felix says, and Sylvain's life flashes before his fucking eyes.

His eyes meet Dorothea's as a truly demonic smirk crosses her face, and Sylvain remembers every time he talked in front of her about how pretty Felix was and how very much and in exactly _what_ ways he would like to fuck him.

“'Thea—“

“Ferdie, Sweetie,” she calls over her shoulder, and Ferdinand appears in the doorway with a questioning look at his wife. “Did you know that Sylvain and Felix are _neighbors_?” Sylvain literally feels his soul tremble as Dorothea smiles at him and then looks Felix up and down. “Sylvain, sweetheart, you know I love you, and Felix you are of course gorgeous,” she starts, and Sylvain pleads with his eyes and also soundless movements of his mouth, “but I've got to be honest—now that I'm seeing it in person again, I think you really oversold the quality of his ass.”

Sylvain feels a horrified little giggle escape him as Felix goes red in his peripheral—he cannot bring himself to look directly at him, but he seems to radiate an embarrassed fury. God, Sylvain is _so fucked_.

Felix draws in a breath, and Sylvain braces himself. “Well, Dorothea, we can't all be Ferdinand and have an ass sculpted by a horse.” Sylvain guffaws in surprise and looks at Felix, whose embarrassed little glare is fixed on Ferdinand. Ferdinand, who is looking back and forth between Sylvain and Felix, slowly raising a finger and opening his mouth— “If you say what you're thinking of saying I'll make Dorothea a widow tonight,” Felix snaps, and Ferdinand closes his mouth with an audible click of his teeth and a nod.

He turns to look at Sylvain, almost pityingly. “Good luck and god bless, Sylvain.” Dorothea laughs this time, and Felix makes a little noise of frustration before latching his fingers around Sylvain's wrist and dragging him out of the kitchen and towards the balcony. Sylvain flashes a wave at a confused looking Dimitri as they pass, and then wiggles an eyebrow at Ingrid across the room when her eyes finally travel from Felix's hand around his wrist to Sylvain's face.

Sylvain watches her mouth fall open as understanding dawns, and then Felix is pulling him out the door and pointedly closing it behind them. He drops Sylvain's wrist and pulls his phone out of his pocket—how the fuck it had fit in those tight pants Sylvain does _not_ know—and begins furiously typing.

“What'cha doing?” Sylvain asks, leaning against the rail of the balcony, and Felix sighs.

“Buying us a chance to talk without the entire circus coming out here to honk their clown shoes at us.” He shows Sylvain his phone while Sylvain laughs and imagines Ingrid's face if she heard Felix calling her a clown. Probably the same as if one of her other brothers did it—like she was going to shove him off her balcony. He looks at the screen.

**[Me]: **Annie for the love of god do not let them come out here

**[Me]: **I will buy you an entire cake

**[Me]:** One of those stupid expensive ice cream ones, even

**[Annette 🎶]:** Ok, you got it!

Another message pops up and Sylvain reads it before he can help himself.

**[Annette 🎶]:** Are you making out out there?

“Are we making out out here?” he asks, and Felix goes pink and makes a choking sort of sound.

“Wh—I—_what_?!” It's really, _really_ cute how flustered that made him, but they do kind of need to talk, so Sylvain points at Felix's phone. Felix looks down, reads the message, and grimaces. He types something back, but he doesn't show Sylvain. When he looks back up, Sylvain is still looking at him, expectant, and he rolls his eyes. “No, we aren't.

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs, and Felix joins him at the railing. It's like their conversation in front of their apartments, but a much different sort of tension hangs in the air. “So. You work with Ferdinand, and you're close with Ingrid; who else here do you know?”

Felix gives him a sidelong glance. “I don't know, who else did you talk to about my ass?” Sylvain is the one who blushes this time, and he mumbles something into his hand, but when he glances at Felix he's smirking against the curve of his palm as he leans on the rail. “I'll go easy on you, since according to Dorothea you were only saying nice things.” Holy shit, he's actually flirting, full-on, eye-contact flirting. “Dimitri, my adopted brother,” he says, and Sylvain nods, “and of course Annette.”

“Annie, right, I work with her wife, Mercedes, at the theater. Dorothea, too, and Ferdinand sometimes. And Raphael, I met him through Ingrid but he helps sometimes when he's not busy at work and we have extra lifting to do.”

Felix takes over. “Ashe you met, do you know his husband, Dedue?” Sylvain shakes his head; he's heard of him from Dimitri, but they've never met. “And Caspar's here, he's friends with Raphael—they call each other 'Brotein'.” Felix grimaces and Sylvain snorts. “His fiancee's supposed to be here later, she had late work.”

“Oh, what about Marianne?” Sylvain asks, and Felix tilts his head. “She's another friend from boarding school, she's dating Dima now.”

Felix's eyes go wide and he turns to face Sylvain completely. “Wait, are you saying Dimitri? _Dimitri_? Isn't single but _I_ still am?” Sylvain nods, leaning towards Felix with a conspiratorial little smile.

“I mean, technically, you _could_ be on a date right now with a really intelligent creative type who is very handsome and, according to rumor, thinks you have the perfect ass.” Felix is pink as usual, but he doesn't fluster or look away—his eyes narrow and he leans in.

“Just how many of our overlapping circle of acquaintances _did_ you talk about my ass with?” he asks, and Sylvain casts his eyes to the ceiling in thought, counting.

“Do you want exact numbers, or is a percentage ok?” Felix makes a little noise, and when Sylvain looks down he sees that Felix is trying to stifle a laugh, his head falling forward until it rests against Sylvain's shoulder.

“You're terrible,” he says, but it sounds fond, and Sylvain turns just enough to shift his arm so he can put it around Felix's shoulders, and Felix leans into him, lifting his head to look at Sylvain. That expectant feeling hovers in the air as Sylvain wonders at how long Felix's eyelashes are, lifts a hand to brush a strand of hair escaping his braid back over his ear...

There is a very loud and insistent tapping on the glass sliding door of the balcony, and they both jump—but Felix doesn't tug away, just glares over Sylvain's shoulder at Ingrid, who has her hands on her hips. They have both been ignoring the buzzing of their phones, and her patience is probably wearing thin.

“Hey, Sylvain,” Felix says, soft, still looking over his shoulder, “did you drive here?”

“No?” Sylvain is staring down at Felix, the closest they've been since he stopped him from tripping over Garfield, memorizing the line of his nose and the curve of his eyebrow.

“Good. Want to take a ride on my motorcycle? Because if we go back in there right now and stay, Ingrid is going to waterboard us.”

“Oh, darn, I was kind of hoping she'd go for jumper cables on the nipples—“ Felix pinches him in the side and he laughs, pulls Felix just a bit tighter, and dares to drop a kiss to the top of his head. “Yeah, I would _love_ to.” Felix shivers in his hold.

“Ok. We're going to have to go back in there, but if you can hold off Ingrid and Dimitri long enough for me to borrow Caspar's helmet, we can make our escape.” This is a new, assertive Felix, and Sylvain likes it. He wonders what's brought it on, and how he can bring it on again.

“Give me two seconds and I think I can secure us a Dima Distraction,” Sylvain says, pulling out his phone to beg Mercie to help, and Felix hums and pulls his phone free, too.

“Good idea, Ingrid is weak to Ashe.” Felix types one handed, still in the crook of Sylvain's arm and throwing glances over his shoulder, and Sylvain finds it quite distracting—the whole damn situation is distracting, honestly; he'd come out tonight miserable and ready to drink himself into sleeping on Ingrid's couch, and now he's holding Felix while they plot a motorcycle escape that's possibly going to end with him getting his dick touched.

It's pretty overwhelming.

“Ok, interference secured, Mercie's got Dima—“

“Ingrid's going,” Felix says as he watches over Sylvain's shoulder, “let's go.” They untangle and Sylvain immediately misses holding him, but he can deal with letting Felix go for now if it means holding him as much as he wants later. They duck back into the party, and Felix makes a beeline for Caspar's bright head of hair; he's sitting next to Raphael and—

“Bear?” Sylvain asks, quiet and incredulous, because his dearest friend in the world is sitting in Caspar's lap.

“Oh! Sylvain—“ she stops at the shushing motions he makes as he looks towards the kitchen, but Felix is looking between her and Caspar with a dawning understanding.

“You _knew_.” Felix says, and he snorts angrily when Caspar looks confused. “Not _you,_ _her_.” He steamrolls over the little 'um' and 'ah' noises Bear makes. “We talked about my job. We talked about _motorcycles_. You _knew_ I worked with Caspar, and you didn't say a _word_.”

Sylvain is not usually slow on the uptake, but he is realizing very suddenly that his dearest friend in the world has kept some important facts from him. Like the identity of her fiance, who apparently _works with his hot neighbor_, and her knowledge of such.

“Bear?” He asks again, and she squirms under his gaze.

“Ok! I knew!” She covers her face in her hands. “I didn't want everyone to find out about you and meddle! I'm sorry!” Sylvain shushes her again as her apology climbs towards a wail.

“It's fine, it's fine, just, shh, we'll talk about it later, _please_, Bear—“

“Caspar, can she drive you home?” Felix asks with a desperate glance towards the kitchen, and Caspar shrugs. “Great, can Sylvain borrow your helmet?”

“Uh, yeah—?”

“Thanks, I'll text you,” Felix says before Caspar can say much more, and grabs Sylvain by the wrist again, dragging him towards the hallway. “Stay hydrated!” Felix calls behind him like an afterthought, and Sylvain almost loses it.

They're quick to grab their jackets and the bike helmets from the coat closet, and then they are out the door and in the elevator. Sylvain holds the helmets and leans against the elevator wall while Felix shrugs into his leather jacket.

“Ok, I have to ask—I can be forgiven for not recognizing Caspar, it's not a totally uncommon name, right? But _Bernadetta_?” Felix rolls his eyes and takes the helmets so Sylvain can put on his own jacket, slung in the crook of his arm.

“Honestly? For the first couple months they were together I thought she was a guy because Caspar only ever calls her 'Bernie'.” Sylvain laughs, eyes closing, and when he looks back at Felix again his breath catches—Felix is staring at him, at his mouth, and Sylvain licks his lips almost on reflex. He sees Felix catch the movement and follow it with darkening eyes, and Sylvain takes a step forward—

The elevator dings and the doors open, and there's an elderly woman with a bag of groceries waiting to get on.

Sylvain can't help himself; he snorts, and then he's laughing outright again, and so is Felix, and they tumble out of the elevator past the old lady, laughing and hanging onto each other. She mutters something about 'drunks' as she passes, and it only sets them off even more. By the time they have calmed down, the elevator is long gone, and Sylvain takes it upon himself to sling an arm around Felix's shoulder and sweep a gesture at the parking lot.

“Lead the way.” This time Felix pulls him along with an arm around his back instead of a hand around his wrist, and Sylvain loves it, could really get _used_ to Felix slotted against him, following Felix around. “So where are you whisking me away to?”

“Home?” Felix says, but it's the tiniest bit uncertain.

Sylvain tightens his arm around Felix's shoulder. “Your place or mine? I know there's such a great distance between them,” he teases, and Felix pinches him again with a little smile. “Let's do mine, it's closer,” he adds, thinking about how guarded Felix has been of his own space, the layers he wears like protective armor; Sylvain wants Felix to be comfortable with him, and he likes the idea of having Felix in his apartment, anyways.

“My apartment is_ two feet_ further down the hall than yours,” Felix says as they reach his bike. “But if you insist.” They separate to put on helmets and get on the bike, and once again Sylvain regrets the loss of Felix's warmth at his side. He doesn't have to regret long, because he climbs onto the bike behind Felix to ride pillion and wraps his arms in a loose grip around Felix's waist; Felix taps on Sylvain's forearm and he tightens his grip and leans in closer, his chest pressed to Felix's back, and he's pretty sure his chuckle rumbles through both of them.

Felix runs his fingers down Sylvain's arm, and then turns his focus to the bike and driving them home.

He's a good driver, and it's been years since Sylvain has been on a bike but he feels completely comfortable—well, 'comfortable' is not the description for the tightness of the front of his pants because of Felix's closeness and competence, but other than the pesky boner, he feels like Felix is totally in control. ...Which doesn't help the boner either, but.

By the time they park Sylvain is trying to think about extremely un-sexy things, like calculus or imagining his old business ethics professor naked, and while it's not completely working, it's keeping him from being _completely_ obviously horny. He hops off the back of the bike and pulls his borrowed helmet off, and he watches as Felix carefully pockets his keys and takes his own helmet off.

Felix hangs the helmet on the handlebar of the bike, and then turns and reaches for the helmet in Sylvain's hands. Sylvain lets him have it, and Felix carefully, deliberately sets it on the seat of the motorcycle before he turns back to Sylvain and takes a deep breath, in and out.

And then, quite suddenly, Sylvain has his arms full of Felix and he's being kissed within an inch of his life—hard and hungry and bruising, Felix pushing onto his toes even as he pulls Sylvain down with one hand in his jacket collar and one hand in his hair, and Sylvain feels lightning from that hand in his hair all the way down to the soles of his feet. He winds his arms around Felix and pulls him flush and Felix makes a sound into his mouth, high and needy when Sylvain's erection becomes obvious.

Felix's hands drop from his hair and his collar to spread across the tops of his shoulders, fingers digging in the same way Sylvain's hands are currently kneading at Felix's ass, which he has been absolutely dying to touch for _forever_. Felix is, to Sylvain's immense satisfaction and quite a bit of pride, also very obviously hard now, and he drops his mouth to Sylvain's jaw and kisses down to his throat.

Sylvain, owing in some small part to the return of oxygen, realizes they are getting _this_ _close_ to fucking in the parking lot, which is _really hot_ but also _really illegal_, and not exactly how he wants his first time with Felix to go. This is not one of his quick flings, this is different, and Sylvain should be _better_.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, what’s the rush?” He asks on the back of a chuckle as Felix sucks a hot bruise to his throat.

“Making the most of the time I have,” he says, and then they both freeze as a soft, empty little ‘oh’ falls out of Sylvain’s mouth. Felix very slowly leans away, eyes glued to Sylvain’s shoulder. “Sylvain…” it’s soft and wincing and dies in the face of the emotionless little laugh coming out of Sylvain.

He should have expected this, but he still feels hollowed out.

“No, I get it, its fine.” Sylvain puts a hand to the back of his neck and looks up towards their apartments, and he doesn’t miss the little noise Felix makes when he pulls his arm away to do it. “I’m not the type you hold onto—”

“_Sylvain_,” Felix hisses, hands sliding up to grip his collar and tug so that Sylvain has to look at him, and he looks… desperate. Sad, and angry, but most of all, desperate, like Sylvain has to listen or he’ll do something drastic. “It’s not like I _want _to get dumped after a week, but if that’s all I get, I’ll take it—”

Sylvain kisses him, because it’s a hell of a way to shut someone up, and because 'if that’s all I get’ is rolling around and around in his head, and he realizes he fucked this up in a way he hadn’t even thought of.

Sylvain is familiar with being used, and with using people—his father has been using him his whole life to make the family look good, and the kind of girls Sylvain dates are usually way too interested in his name and his family and his access to the Gautier bank account. They want to use him for the status they think they can get off of him, and he uses them for a few days of flattering praise that ultimately is about as helpful as putting a band-aid on a sucking chest wound.

Here he is, _trying_ for once to start an actual relationship, and Felix thinks he's just another one of Sylvain's fucked up things. When he finally has to let Felix go to breathe, Sylvain keeps him close, their foreheads together.

“So, look, I know that my... my behavior in the past doesn't exactly paint me favorably. But I am _actually trying here,_ Felix. I really like you, and I'm trying.” Felix makes a little noise in his throat, and Sylvain brushes his thumb along the line of his jaw. “You don't have to commit or anything, I'm just saying, I'm not looking to get in your pants and then ghost you.”

“I shouldn't have said that, I'm sorry, it's—“

“No, I get it. I really do.” Sylvain _really does_. He doesn't even _know_ how many 'girlfriends' he's had since moving in here. This is a problem he has created for himself, as usual, and unfortunately no problem has ever been solved by Sylvain putting his dick in it. He sighs. “I think...it's probably a bad idea for us to do this tonight.”

Felix lets out a little hiss of breath and starts to pull back, but Sylvain keeps hold of him, slides his hands down to cup the curve of Felix's shoulders and look him in the eyes—the assertive, confident Felix from earlier in the night has disappeared back behind what Sylvain sees now was not _shyness_ but _wariness_. “Will you come over, still? Maybe...spend the night? No funny stuff,” he adds, “but we could talk. And I'm kind of dying to see what you look like when you sleep.” It sounds like a line but he's never been more serious, or more embarrassed to _be_ serious, and his fingers twitch around Felix's shoulders as his face gets hot.

Felix turns absolutely scarlet again, eyes wide, and he's _so_ pretty with his hair all mussed from the bike helmet and his lips pink and swollen from kissing Sylvain. Felix manages two seconds of eye contact before he leans into Sylvain and presses his face into his shoulder and mumbles, “Shit. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's brief mention of cat birth in this chapter, I tried not to get too graphic with it but heads up just in case!

Felix sits on a stool at the counter in Sylvain's kitchen, eating a grilled cheese Sylvain had insisted on making since they had left the party without really eating any dinner. Sylvain stands and leans against the corner of the counter, eating his own sandwich and watching Felix.

Felix thinks about the fact Sylvain used pepper-jack cheese, and 'I really like you' burns at the back of his mind. And he knows Sylvain can cook much more complicated meals, but warm-cheesy-sandwich is one of those comfort food things, and Felix gets the distinct feeling from the sandwich and the bit of distance Sylvain has put between them and the aimless little tune Sylvain is humming as he eats that Sylvain is trying to make sure Felix is comfortable.

Felix helps him do dishes, ignoring Sylvain's protest with an eye-roll and a bump of their shoulders together, and thinks and _thinks_ about 'I am actually trying here'.

It's late enough in the evening now that they can sort of justify going to bed, and honestly Felix feels tired enough to—the excitement of earlier has fallen out of him and he feels heavy and drained, and unhappy in a distant way. He can't help remembering how resigned Sylvain had looked, how very _unsurprised_ he was that Felix expected so little of him. Felix hopes he'll feel less like a dickhead in the morning after some sleep. Maybe.

“I should go home and change,” he says, because he doesn't like sleeping in jeans, and he watches Sylvain drop his eyes to the floor with a little grimace he turns into a forced smile. Felix, in a rare flash of intuition, gets the feeling Sylvain doesn't want him to leave, because he expects him to decide not to come back. Sylvain might not even be wrong—if Felix gets back into his own private space and has five minutes to think, he'll probably talk himself into staying home, even if it's a really stupid way to fuck this all up. So he continues, “Or I could borrow something.”

Sylvain lights up with a grin. “I'm not really a pajamas type, but I'm sure I can find something comfortable.” Felix rolls his eyes and follows Sylvain towards the bedroom when he beckons with a finger.

“Of course not, you seem like the Sleeps Naked type.”

“Well, as close as I can get,” Sylvain answers as he digs through a drawer. “I overheat.” He glances at Felix with a smile and then holds out a pair of sweatpants that, thank god, have a drawstring waist, because they are definitely going to be too big on Felix. “Want a shirt, too?”

Felix doesn't need one, would be pretty comfortable in his sweater in fact, but there's something about being entirely dressed in Sylvain's clothes, sleeping in Sylvain's bed, that feels very tempting. “Please,” he says, and Sylvain hands him a shirt. Felix unfolds it to hold it up, knowing it will be too big, and he smirks at the picture on the front: it's an ad for a showing of 'Don Juan Triumphant', with a swooning woman in a simple white gown that barely covers her chest, being held up by a masked man in red, framed by flames.

“Is this a Phantom of the Opera shirt?” Felix asks, and Sylvain's eyes widen before he smiles so sunnily bright Felix wants to kiss him again.

“_You_ recognize my niche Poto shirt? The guy who got offended when I pointed out his cat's namesake was an opera singer?”

Felix sighs dramatically as he drapes the shirt over one shoulder and rolls his eyes. “One, I didn't get _offended_, and two, of course I recognize Phantom, I roomed with Ferdinand in college.” Sylvain's smile takes a mischievous cast.

“Did he make you sing with him?” Felix must give himself away, because Sylvain gasps. “He _did_! Which part? _Please_ say Christine.” Felix crosses his arms and admits defeat.

“Erik, usually, but Raoul sometimes. You _know_ Ferdinand doesn't let anyone else do Christine.” Sylvain chuckles, shaking his head.

“The reprise for Point of No Return had to be a pain, huh?” Sylvain says, and Felix thinks back to college, mopping the communal bathroom or vacuuming the common room when it was their turn on the cleaning roster and belting out whatever Phantom song Ferdinand was singing. The reprise was Felix's favorite, actually, because it was most challenging since he wound up singing two parts, which took his mind off of how boring cleaning was.

“I just switched wherever I wanted, not like Ferdinand could complain while he was trying to hit the highs.” Sylvain looks absolutely delighted.

“Ok, ok, most important question, though—Brightman or Rossum Christine?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh no, god, did Ferdie teach you nothing? He started you on the '04 film, didn't he?” He says it 'oh-four', and Felix finds it somehow endearing. “I have to show you Sarah Brightman, she is a goddess on earth—but not right now, obviously.” He looks sheepish, and Felix almost wants to give in and let him gush about musicals. Almost. “Uh, here, there's spare toothbrushes in the bathroom.”

Felix follows Sylvain, who gets him a toothbrush out of a half-empty multipack in his cabinet and then leaves him to change and get ready for bed.

Felix changes and he has to roll the cuffs of the sweatpants to keep from stepping on them. They're warm and comfortable though, and it's better than jeans, even if he feels kind of like a kid playing dress up with the way Sylvain's clothes hang off of him. Still, they smell like Sylvain, and Felix splashes water on his face after he brushes his teeth.

He thinks about taking out his braid, but he doesn't want to chance losing his hair tie; there is a cup in the medicine cabinet next to where Sylvain keeps his toothpaste, full of hair ties and bobby pins and hair clips, but Felix is loath to use anything meant for Sylvain's ex-girlfriends. Well, anything other than a toothbrush. He shakes himself and leaves the bathroom.

He can hear [music](https://youtu.be/iEqLvo9zDZM) coming from the bedroom, something quiet and instrumental, and he stops on his way to investigate when Garfield rubs against his leg. Felix sets his folded clothes on the back of a chair and then leans down and hefts the cat into his arms; for a moment he thinks about Maupin alone overnight next-door for the first time since he'd brought her home. He supposes she'll be fine, though—it's not as if she's a dog, who'll need to be let out to do her business.

Walking back into the bedroom with Garfield purring heavily in his arms, Felix finds Sylvain sitting on the corner of the bed in a heather-grey t-shirt and boxers, texting on his phone while the music plays soft. He looks up at Felix and his eyes travel from the cat in his arms to the rolled cuffs of his borrowed sweatpants, and his smile is soft and warm, close-mouthed and impossibly sweet for the lack of flashing teeth. Felix feels his cheeks getting warm as Sylvain rises and sets his phone on top of the dresser.

“I'm gonna brush my teeth and stuff, make yourself at home.” Felix watches him walk out, and then sits on the side of the bed opposite to where Sylvain had been, figuring it was probably his preferred side. He lets Garfield down onto the blanket and then makes himself cozy, wriggling under the blanket and lying back to see how the pillows feel—perfect, dangerously so, because they smell like Sylvain's cologne and a hint of shampoo, and Felix turns his face and inhales and feels _sheltered_.

When Sylvain comes back, Felix is comfortably settled in and petting Garfield, who is curled into the curve of his chest. Sylvain grabs his phone and brings it over as he slides under the blanket on his side of the bed, looking over at Felix. “D'you mind the music?”

“It's fine; it's good, actually.” Sylvain smiles small and pleased.

“I'll send you a link to the album later,” he says, tapping furiously away. “I'm fielding some heat from Ingrid, who does _not_ believe I didn't know who you were.” Felix rolls onto his back and sighs up at the ceiling.

“Ugh, I'm not even going to bother with _anyone's_ messages until the morning or I'll be up all night.”

Sylvain smirks sidelong at him. “That's a good idea, actually; I'll tell her you said that.” He taps at his screen for another moment, and then he sets the phone on a wireless charging pad on the bedside table and turns out the lamp, the music still playing quietly. There's a little bit of light around the edges of the blinds from the lights in the parking lot, and a faint glow from a star-shaped nightlight plugged into an outlet on the far side of the room, and Felix can make out the curve of Sylvain's cheek and shoulder as he turns on his side towards Felix.

“What?” he asks, rolling back onto his side to face Sylvain as well; he can practically _feel_ that Sylvain wants to ask him something. Garfield gets up and slinks to the end of the bed, annoyed by their shifting, and Sylvain snorts before turning back to Felix.

“Aren't you going to be uncomfortable, sleeping with your hair up?”

“Maybe. I don't want to lose my hair tie.” Sylvain's fingers brush Felix's shoulder, soft and hesitant, and Felix allows it. He would, quite honestly, allow a hell of a lot more right now.

“I'll hold onto it for you?” Felix can tell the question is more than that from the way Sylvain's fingertips trail along his shoulder and back to catch his braid, pull it to rest across the side of Felix's neck while Sylvain toys with the end.

“Okay,” he says, small and soft, and he watches Sylvain's smile, his eyes adjusted to the low light. Sylvain carefully removes the elastic tie from the end of his braid and slips it onto his own wrist before taking both hands to twist strands of Felix's hair against the braid, unraveling it.

“I liked your hair tonight, by the way,” Sylvain says, and Felix is glad it's dark because he's tired of blushing every time Sylvain says something even vaguely flattering.

“Thanks. I never braid it myself, but I got to Ingrid's early and Annette got ahold of me.”

“Good job, Annette,” Sylvain whispers, and Felix shivers—Sylvain is close and radiating warmth and his stupidly good smell, and he's being so gentle and careful with his movements. It's like he's dealing with an animal he doesn't want to spook, and Felix just thinks of the hollow, terrible way Sylvain had said 'I'm not the type you hold onto'.

Felix _wants_ to hold onto him.

“Sylvain,” he starts, careful, deciding he's got to get this out now while he's riding this wave of allowed vulnerability, “I don't date a lot. I have chances, but I'm usually not interested, and when I am, it's historically a big fuck up on my part.” Sylvain hmms as he continues slowly undoing Felix's braid. “The kind of fuck ups that make me kind of nervous when I get interested in people.”

Sylvain doesn't say anything, just finishes undoing the braid, and then starts running careful fingers through Felix's hair to straighten any tangles. Felix sighs happily, but he can't let himself get distracted before he's done explaining to Sylvain. “I get nervous waiting to figure out how I've screwed myself over. It's like I chronically fall for people who aren't interested.”

“Who wouldn't be interested?” Sylvain mutters, fingertips at the base of Felix's skull, and Felix snorts.

“Dimitri?” Sylvain's fingers freeze. “I had a crush on him when we were eleven. Mitya is _painfully_ straight, Sylvain.”

“I've noticed. He's also oblivious,” he says, resuming massaging Felix's scalp.

“Thank god, because I got over it, and it would have made the whole 'you're an orphan so now we're brothers' thing pretty awkward.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Sylvain says with a crooked smile.

“Then, in college, I meet this girl, right? We get close. I start realizing I'm half in love with her, and I know it's not going to work out.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because it was Annette.”

“Isn't Annette—“

“A lesbian? _Yeah_.”

“...You weren't kidding about your bad track record, huh?”

“Nope. Living next door to you and your stupid shoulders when I thought you were straight was a fucking nightmare, honestly.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says, flattered and wide-eyed. Felix nods.

“And then after I realized you were flirting, I was still sort of... expecting the big reveal. The reason you weren't actually interested and I was being a dumbass again.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says again, and then breathes, “Felix,” and scoots closer, hand sliding down to pull Felix towards himself.

“The most stable relationship I've had was the two weeks in sixth grade that I dated Ashe, which just meant we sat together at lunch and I bought him candy bars from the snack stand. I don't really date. I'm not very good with,” Felix lifts a hand between them and wiggles it in a vague gesture, letting it drop back to the mattress. “...Feelings.”

“So,” he continues after a pause, “it's not you. What I said earlier, it's not, not a thing about _you_, or the kind of _person_ you are, I'm just kind of shit at this. It's a Me thing. I'm sorry.”

“Felix...” Sylvain pulls him in just that much more, and Felix lets himself cuddle into Sylvain, wrap an arm around him while Sylvain runs a hand down his back, rubs circles into the small of his back until Felix goes boneless in his arms. Felix doesn't touch people much for anything outside of work, re-positioning students when they practice stances, that sort of thing. He's not particularly physical with his friends—Ferdinand has learned over the years that Felix prefers not to be touched, and while Caspar is too oblivious to notice that, his touches are generally confined to hearty slaps on the back and punches on the arm. Annette he actively avoids touching, for obvious reasons.

Felix hadn't thought about how touch-starved he really was until Sylvain had caught him when he tripped over Garfield, and he had tried not to touch Sylvain too much and give himself away after that. All the arms-around-shoulders at Ingrid's party had been heavenly, but the bike ride pressed together had absolutely snapped him. Now Felix just basks in the feel of Sylvain against the whole length of him, warm and very solid, and he wants so much not to fuck this up.

He wants to have Sylvain with him like this for as long as he can, and he rests a palm on Sylvain's chest where he can feel the steadiness of his heartbeat.

Felix's palm rises and falls as Sylvain sighs. “You're not the only one who's kind of shit at this. My last like, serious relationship was in high school, which is pretty sad. I haven't really been _dating_ dating since then, kind of just. Being a big slut so there's always someone around to say nice things about me.” Felix squeezes with the arm he'd slung over Sylvain. “I think the last time I actually dated someone was when I switched colleges and met Dorothea, and that lasted about a month before we decided we were definitely better friends. And then she met Ferdie, y'know, so, for the best, really.”

“Mm, for the best,” Felix says, moving to tuck his head under Sylvain's chin, and he hears Sylvain make a little noise in his throat as his fingers twitch against Felix's back. “D'you know,” Felix says after a long moment, “that you always smell _fucking amazing_?”

Sylvain laughs, surprised and happy, and when he stops he presses a kiss to Felix's forehead at his hairline.

They settle together, talking quietly until long after the music has stopped coming from Sylvain's phone. They kiss once or twice, soft and slow things that are more languid than horny, and true to his word Sylvain doesn't try to move past holding Felix close and kissing him. Felix, through some miracle, manages to follow his lead—Sylvain is correct that it's probably not a good idea for them to have sex just now, so Felix makes the effort _not_ to. It's fucking Herculean, but he manages.

Eventually they fall asleep, curled together and comfortable.

+

Sylvain wakes up slow to the feel of a body pressed along his spine and an arm slung over his chest, legs tangled into his own and cold toes pressing into his calf. At some point in his sleep he must have pulled his shirt off, because Felix's forehead is pressed to his naked back, and Sylvain smiles. The room is lighting up with the sunrise, but it's a Sunday and he doesn't have anywhere to be besides right here with Felix.

Very carefully, so he won't wake Felix, Sylvain turns so he can look at him.

Felix's hair is falling over his face, and Sylvain moves to brush it back behind his ear and freezes midway; Felix looks beautiful, the soft light filtering through the blinds casting him like a painting. His eyelashes, long and dark, span across the sharp line of his cheeks, and his lips are just barely parted as he breathes soft and slow in his sleep. Sylvain notes that he slept in his earrings as he tucks dark hair behind his ear, reveling in how silky it is.

Sylvain looks at Felix until he has to turn away from the swell in his chest—he doesn't want to kiss Felix or fuck him, he wants to hold him and hoard the softness of him to himself forever. It's too much, far too much, and he settles back on his side and strokes his fingertips down Felix's arm, laces his fingers into Felix's curled ones, and goes back to sleep.

When he wakes the second time, it's to the press of lips against his shoulder from behind and the warm twist of fingers around his own. Sylvain blinks in the much brighter light and yawns before he pulls Felix's hand up to brush a kiss along his knuckles. “G'mornin,” he mumbles, and Felix kisses his shoulder again, closer to his neck.

“Morning.” Sylvain is wondering if maybe _now_ would be an OK time to think about having sex, when Garfield hops onto the end of the bed and stalks along its length, meowing pitifully. Felix snickers against Sylvain's skin, and it's so fucking nice to have him here in his bed all sweet and sleep-warm that Sylvain can't even be annoyed at Garfield's interruption.

“You'd think I starve him,” Sylvain grumbles, and Felix lifts his hand for Garfield to butt his head against. “Cozying up to the President, huh? What are you lobbying for?”

“More swords.” Sylvain snickers, turning his face towards his pillow.

“A sword for every household?” he asks, and Felix nods, sitting up and stretching. Sylvain turns his head to watch him, lithe and pretty with his hair loose over his shoulders and the collar of Sylvain's too-large shirt falling low to show off a hint of collarbone. Shit, Sylvain could keep him here forever just like this and be happy with it.

“I should probably go feed The Diva,” Felix says, and Sylvain sighs and rubs a hand down Felix's spine.

“Sure. Are you hungry? We can be lazy and order out for breakfast, I know a place that does killer omelettes.” Felix makes a humming sound that Sylvain takes as an OK, before Felix lifts a hand to brush his hair back over his shoulder with a sleepy little frown. Sylvain slips the elastic hair tie from his wrist and holds it out to Felix. “Hair bothering you? I could put it up...”

Felix turns to look down at him, and the shyly hopeful look Sylvain gives him must sway him because he mumbles, “Alright,” and shifts so that his back is to Sylvain. Sylvain sits up and gathers Felix's hair in one fist, combing his fingers through from Felix's scalp to the ends to straighten it out. He feels Felix shiver under his hands, and watches the back of his neck go warm and pink. Sylvain secures his hair into a ponytail, and then twists it into a messy bun like the first time he'd seen Felix shirtless—it leaves more of his neck exposed, and he drops a kiss to Felix's hot skin.

“All done,” he says, and Felix turns and pulls him up to kiss him, hands in Sylvain's hair and on his chin to tilt his face just right so that Felix can lick into his mouth like he's tasting the groan Sylvain makes. When Felix leans back, Sylvain follows his lips for a second, but the hand on his chin holds him firm; Assertive Felix returns with a vengeance.

“I've got to go feed Maupin, but then I'll come back and we can be lazy as long as we want.” Sylvain nods in his hold. “And put on some clothes while I'm gone, you're _killing_ me,” Felix adds, and Sylvain laughs and leans up against that hold to kiss him anyways, quick and sweet.

They climb out of bed and Sylvain pulls on clothes while Felix goes home, and Sylvain grabs his phone before heading to the kitchen to feed Garfield. Once the cat is taken care of, Sylvain sits on a stool and leans on the counter, checking his messages.

He has several missed calls and messages from **[🍔 Stay Gold Ponygirl 🍕]** that he decides to wait on until he's more awake, and a couple from his other friends.

**[🌹 Prima Donna🌹]: **

**[🌹 Prima Donna🌹]:** You two last night

Sylvain rolls his eyes

**[Me]:** Thanks for exposing my ass, Thea

**[🌹 Prima Donna🌹]:** What would you do without me?

Probably still be dancing around Felix, so he sighs and opens the messages from Bear.

**[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]: **I'm really really really really really really sorryyyy

**[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]:** I just thought if you knew you should know each other then everyone would find out!

**[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]:** And then they would meddle

**[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]:** Especially Ingrid

**[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]:** Pleaaaase don't be mad at me 😿

Shit, he really should have messaged her last night.

**[Me]:** Hey Bear I just woke up and I'm not mad at you I promise!

**[Me]:** I'll call you later but I'm hanging out with Felix rn ❤️

He's opening the single message from **[🦁 Prince Charming 🧀]** when **[❤️Baby Mama❤️]** pops up at the top of his screen and he clicks the notification automatically.

**[❤️Baby Mama❤️]:** please come over right fucking now

+

Felix is panicking.

He is absolutely panicking.

He cannot find Mademoiselle Maupin.

Sylvain doesn't bother knocking when he arrives, just comes in and closes the door behind himself, barefoot and worried, and Felix feels a single thread of his panic loosen at that.

“What's wrong, Babe?”

“Maupin's gone.” Felix shivers at the wretched sound of his own voice and his eyes scan the living room aimlessly. Sylvain comes over to put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Felix breathes in a sharp breath.

“Ok, let's calm down and you tell me what happened, and I'll do whatever I can. Alright?” Felix nods and wonders what the fuck he would have done without Sylvain. He isn't usually the type to lose it like this, but it's winter and it's supposed to snow later in the week and his cat is days away from _giving birth_, so, he's _fucking worried_.

“Alright.” He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath, in and out. “I know she was here yesterday afternoon, because I saw her on the couch, but I think she must have gotten out somehow before I left for the party. She didn't eat her wet food, I put it out right before I left, and you know how cats are for that shit.” Sylvain nods and rubs Felix's shoulder.

“I looked all over for her,” Felix continues, “but I can't find her. I thought, maybe she was nesting, since all the articles said she might not eat before, right? But she's not in the box.” Felix and Sylvain had set up a queening box for Maupin a few weeks back, following all the advice they'd seen in articles and some things Ashe had told Felix; Ashe volunteered at a shelter, and Felix trusted his actual knowledge more than information on the internet.

“Ok,” Sylvain soothes, “but she might not use the box, remember? Here's what we can do. We'll check again together, and if we still don't find her, we can look outside and you can call Ashe and see what he thinks we can do. If she _did_ get out, she probably wouldn't go too far.” Felix nods. That's a good plan. A very good idea.

Thank fucking god Sylvain is being so calm, because Felix is an anxious ball of worried guilt, imagining his very pregnant cat freezing in the snow like some Little Match Girl shit.

They start in the spare room, where the box was set up, and they check under all of the furniture. They check the living room, under and behind the couch. Felix checks the fucking _closet_.

Felix is looking under his bed when Sylvain frowns, holds up a hand and says, “D'you hear that?” Felix looks up at him from where he's crouched on the floor, and Sylvain moves over to Felix's dresser. He looks underneath, shakes his head, and then looks behind—

“Oh shit, I think I found her.” Felix scrambles over as Sylvain pulls his phone from his pocket and turns on the flashlight, shining it on the back of the dresser. There's a gap in the wood, a half-moon cutout with a long-missing sock sticking out of it, and in the quiet Felix can hear shuffling and the rasp of a cat tongue. He goes almost boneless with relief, leaning against the dresser for a moment. “There we go, Sweetheart, no reason to worry, huh?”

Sylvain is smiling at him, a steadying hand on his elbow, and Felix leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth. “You're a fucking treasure,” he mutters, and then pulls away to kneel in front of the bottom drawer of the dresser. Sylvain goes pink and rubs the back of his neck before he comes to join Felix. Together they very slowly and carefully ease the drawer out of the dresser, and Felix swears.

Maupin has made a space for herself among pairs of socks and boxers and a shirt Felix has been looking for for months, and she is not happy to see them. She is also in the first stages of giving birth, her stomach rippling with contractions.

“Oh, whoa,” Sylvain says, and Felix swears again and goes to get his phone off of his counter and call Ashe.

Ashe instructs that they should _not_ try to move Maupin, but he agrees to come over and help. This is a good thing, because by the time he arrives with a thermos of calming tea and a container of biscuit sandwiches Dedue had made, Maupin is giving birth to the first kitten and Felix is losing his mind. He feels like the stereotype of the worried father outside the delivery room, pacing and chain-smoking and guzzling coffee. Instead he downs a cup of tea and a biscuit filled with sausage and peppers.

Ashe tells them to eat up and get comfortable, because this could take a few hours or a few _days_, and Felix feels like he needs to go lie down.

There is mess. There are _fluids_. Felix crinkles his nose as Ashe passes around latex gloves and then warns them they probably shouldn't try touching Maupin or her kittens right now anyways, unless it is absolutely necessary.

Felix is not obsessed with neatness and cleanliness the way Sylvain seems to be, and he doesn't consider himself squeamish, but he's also never had a cat giving birth in his clean laundry before.

“I'm not going to be able to salvage any of those clothes, am I.” It's not so much a question as a defeated statement, and Sylvain pats him on the thigh with a grin.

“I'll buy you new ones, let it fall under child support. Get you something real cute,” he adds, with a tiny squeeze of his fingers, and Felix rolls his eyes but he feels warm and a hell of a lot better about all of his socks being destroyed by birth viscera.

“I would have stopped for congratulatory cigars, but you really sounded like you needed me here,” Ashe teases once the first kitten is pushed forth, and Felix is too disgusted to be annoyed. Sylvain, sitting on the floor beside him with his back pressed to the side of the bed, just looks curious.

It's a wet, slimy looking little thing, and Felix frowns—he'd always thought kittens were cute, but this thing looks like a drowned rat. “Oh, really?” he groans when Maupin leans down and starts licking the kitten, and it's disgusting. “Oh, that's grooOOHHH!” The kitten meows its first meow, tiny and high, and Felix claps his hands over his mouth after the sound he made in response.

Sylvain laughs openly next to him, head falling onto Felix's shoulder. “You are so fucking cute,” he says, wiping at his eyes. Ashe, moving a bit closer to look down at Maupin and her kitten, just smiles.

“Looks pretty OK, I think she has everything under control,” Ashe says, and Felix relaxes a bit. “She chewed through the umbilical cord, so we won't need to cut it.”

“It's not her first rodeo,” Sylvain says as Felix's face crinkles in disgust, and it seems to set the tone for the birth. The following kittens are born smoothly, around 40 minutes apart each, until there are four damp and wriggling kittens curling up to cry and suckle while Maupin lies exhausted in her nest of socks and underwear.

“Well, I think she's done. It's a smallish litter, but that's not totally unusual,” Ashe says, and Felix slumps back against the side of the bed in relief, Sylvain sitting above him on the corner of the mattress, legs spread to either side of Felix. “You probably want to move her litter box and food and water in here, just for now. When they're all a little more settled, you could try moving them out of the drawer to the nesting box.”

“Thank you, Ashe. For everything,” Felix sighs, and Ashe just smiles at the two of them.

“It's nothing, I'm glad to help. It's been a hectic weekend, with everyone finding out you're dating and then the—“ Ashe stops at the dumbstruck looks on both of their faces. “What?”

“We're not dating,” Felix says, and then turns to look at Sylvain behind him. “Are we?” Sylvain only gives a very helpful 'um' and Ashe makes an annoyed sound that Felix recognizes with a wince as his Felix-is-being-an-emotional-dunce sound. When he turns back to Ashe, he's standing with his hands on his hips.

“I'm going home,” Ashe says. “Call me when you get your shit together.” Felix grimaces—if Ashe is swearing, he is being truly stupid indeed. “I hope you enjoy the biscuits, and you can bring back the thermos whenever.” He gives them a little wave, and then he is gone.

There is a heavy sort of quiet left in his wake, only broken by the sound of Maupin's kittens. Felix pushes up off of the floor and drops to sit next to Sylvain on the edge of the bed. Sylvain glances at him out of the corner of his eye, a hand on the back of his neck in a gesture Felix is coming to dislike, since it mostly seems to happen when Sylvain is uncomfortable.

“Do you _want_ to be dating?” Sylvain asks, a little too casual, and Felix turns to stare at him.

Sylvain, ridiculously handsome, funny and charming and intelligent, barefoot because he rushed over when Felix needed him, so into Felix that he'd apparently been talking to all their friends about it, who knows now that Felix is wary of his own judgement, and is so sure that he himself isn't worth being _kept_.

“_Yes_, Sylvain, I want to be dating. I want to date _you_.” He lifts a hand and waves it in a vague gesture. “I just didn't want to, y'know, assume, since we didn't really _specify_—“ Sylvain kisses him, one hand sliding to cup his jaw and the other at the back of his neck, fingertips in his hair.

“Ok. Good. Yeah, we're dating. Definitely,” Sylvain says when they break apart for a second, and Felix can't help the laugh that bubbles up, and he kisses Sylvain on the corner of his mouth.

“Did you have anything planned for today?” he asks, and Sylvain shakes his head against Felix's throat, tugging him over to straddle his lap.

“Nope, just spending time with you. Why?” Sylvain kisses his throat, down to his collarbone where it peeks out of his shirt.

“Well, you may have noticed I need to go clothes shopping.” Felix pulls his fingers through Sylvain's messy curls and hums as Sylvain mouths a mark over his collarbone, worries it with his teeth. “I thought maybe I could go in my boyfriend's car,” he adds, breathy, and Sylvain drops his forehead to Felix's shoulder with a laugh.

“Sure, I _did_ say I'd buy you something cute, hm?” He peeks up at Felix, and he looks so sweet...

“Later, though,” Felix says, and pushes Sylvain back onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


	7. Epilogue

“Oh, Babe,” Sylvain calls from the bathroom of their new apartment as he shaves, “can you text Bear for me and let her know I'm running late?”

“I don't have her number in my phone.”

“Use mine, it's on the counter; the pass is 1337.” He says it 'thirteen-thirty-seven' but Felix isn't fooled.

“Nerd.” Felix pushes up from the couch and gets the phone, unlocks it and pulls up Sylvain's contacts. He's scrolling down to **[✨Bearnadetta 🐻]** when he sees **[❤️Baby Mama❤️]** and stops. Sylvain doesn't put _anyone_ in his phone under a proper name, but this is a pretty damning nickname. Felix is not the type to snoop, but Sylvain had to realize he would see this?

“Sylvain?” he calls, and his tone must be awful because he hears a clatter in the bathroom and Sylvain pokes his head out of the door, shaving cream over half of his chin.

“What's wrong?” Sylvain looks and sounds worried, and Felix rethinks confronting him for just a second—Sylvain doesn't seem like he was _expecting_ Felix to be glaring down at his phone, and Felix wonders if maybe this _is_ some kind of controlling partner shit, seeing a contact in his phone and flipping his lid. But Sylvain had basically handed him the keys to this, and it will just make Felix angry and bitchy until he brings it up, anyways.

“Who is Baby Mama?” Sylvain looks at him for a moment, blinks, and then grins. He looks far too amused by how pissed Felix is.

“That's you.”

“_Excuse me_?”

“You're Baby Mama. Because, like, child support?” Felix scowls at him. “Go on, check!” Felix sighs and shakes his head and doesn't bother—it's too stupid of a lie to be believable, which is how he knows Sylvain is telling the truth. Sylvain comes over and takes the phone from him, setting it down on the counter and pulling Felix into his arms, heedless of the shaving cream on his face. “You're hot when you're jealous.”

“You think I'm hot all the time,” Felix retorts, and Sylvain grins and nods and tries to kiss him—Felix puts a hand against his mouth and pushes him back, and Sylvain's eyes over his hand are hurt. “You're a mess, finish shaving before you kiss me.”

“So you _will_ let me kiss you?” Felix resists the urge to wipe the shaving cream mess on his hand onto the front of Sylvain's shirt in annoyance, purely because Bernadetta is waiting on Sylvain and he's already going to be late enough without needing to change.

“Of _course_, now go shave!” Sylvain does as he is commanded, and Felix texts Bernadetta to let her know Sylvain is running late. He backs out to the Baby Mama contact, chewing his lip.

He changes the name from Baby Mama to Felix. He leaves the hearts, but adds a sword, just because.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, thanks so much to everyone who read and commented, you have all been so sweet! I really hope you enjoy this ending.
> 
> I've made this into a series because I do have some smut to add but I didn't want to change the rating of this fic, and that should be coming some time tomorrow, along with a little AU side story from a prompt generator and a big notes dump about the tangled web of who knows who and juicy background details that just couldn't fit in the fic!
> 
> Again, thanks so much for following along with this fic, it has meant so much to me!
> 
> EDIT: God I just realized lmao, I really meant to talk about the kittens but I forgot because I had another side story planned OTL  
So, 4 kittens, two black (Erik, Carlotta), one Ginger (Raoul), and one tortoiseshell (Christine). 
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


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